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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26585674">The Book Smuggler</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lithugraph/pseuds/Lithugraph'>Lithugraph (lithugraph)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(and his father), (and men), 19th Century, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Historical, Catholic Guilt, Drama, Eduard has a complicated relationship with his country, Gilbert wears a Pickelhaube, Historical Hetalia, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Raivis just wishes adults would make sense, Rare Pair, Romance, Smuggling, Tasseomancy, Tauras has a complicated relationship with religion, and bromance, back scars, banned books, past LietPol, pruliet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:47:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>35,922</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26585674</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lithugraph/pseuds/Lithugraph</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>1869.  After a failed part in a failed rebellion, Lithuanian noble Tauras Laurinaitis fled his homeland rather than risk being sent to Siberia.  Guilt-ridden, he is determined to keep the memory of his country alive the only way he can: printing and smuggling books in a language now outlawed by the Russian Empire.  But what happens when he catches the eye of a certain Prussian gendarme?  Will Tauras be able to keep his smuggling, and his past, a secret?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lithuania &amp; Prussia (Hetalia), Lithuania/Prussia (Hetalia), Prussia/Lithuania</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Kaunas County border, Lithuania, 1863</strong>
</p><p>There was no possibility of sleep.</p><p>When Russian bullets and canon were not assaulting them by day, mosquitoes and other flying, biting insects took their place at night. Tauras almost wished for the bullets. Almost. At least that would be a better reason for being awake at this ungodly hour, he thought, as he slapped again at a buzzing nuisance around his neck. They had passed a farm seven kilometers back, and Tauras wondered now, as he did then, why they couldn't just bed down in the barn for a night. There were only five of them, after all. Five. His squadron had been decimated at the end of May. The remaining members routed, managing to connect up with a few other scattered groups, engaging in sabotage and hit-and-run tactics around the city of Raseiniai, but for all their effort, their numbers continued to dwindle.</p><p>Eventually word got through that the uprising was over, the leadership having all but fallen apart as summer drew near. Tauras refused to believe it, as did the remaining members of his squadron. There had been talk of going to Kaunas, where a squad led by a priest was somehow holding out. But Arnas dismissed it all as rumor. He never held much esteem for the clergy — something he always made sure to impress upon the rest of the men whenever Tauras was in earshot. Arnas was a believer of the old gods and, despite the Catholic leanings of his compatriots, had established himself as their leader — at least until they managed to regroup with the rest of their scattered squad, Tauras quietly hoped.</p><p>A few days passed in quiet respite from any gunfire. The mosquitoes, however, were still unrelenting.</p><p>They crossed into Tauragė County, where Tauras' family estate stood. It had been nearly three years since he was last home. Before his parents sent him to the seminary in Varniai. It was an odd feeling, to be so near home, yet no one — not his parents nor younger brother or sister — even knew it. Tauras did not mention this, of course. It was bad enough Arnas found out he had been in the seminary. Tauras could only imagine the insults he would have to endure if any of the men knew he was a Russian-sympathizing aristocrat's son, too.</p><p>The men came upon a tree-covered mound — an ancient fortification from the days when the land had been besieged by foreign knights zealously bent on converting the pagan population. Arnas placed a palm reverently on the mound a few moments. Then he scrambled to the top.</p><p>"What do you see?" one of the men whispered hoarsely from below.</p><p>Arnas slid back down to them. "Four Russian soldiers. I think they're headed to Tauragė. Most likely a resupply run."</p><p>"What's the plan?" another man — Mykolas — asked.</p><p>Arnas gave them a grave look. "They're too close for us to encircle without drawing attention. All right. The top of the mound has enough trees for cover. We climb up there, wait for them to pass our position, then ambush."</p><p>The men nodded and began taking position to climb the mound. Tauras slung his rifle around his shoulder, about to ascend, when Arnas leaned in and said: "Don't ruin this, priest."</p><p>Tauras' jaw clenched. "I am <em>not</em> a priest." His fingers dug into the loamy earth, pulling himself up and away from Arnas' sneering face.</p><p>At the top of the mound, Tauras crouched, slowly moving himself forward, mindful of every step. The tree cover began to thin, giving way to nothing but grass and saplings as the mound sloped down to join an open field. It was through this field the Russian soldiers traversed — two of them driving a wagon, the other two on horseback behind it. Arnas signaled to take out the two on horseback first. As one, the men held their breath, waiting for the soldiers to pass. Then, they attacked.</p><p>Tauras flew down the mound, hardly aware of his feet touching the ground, certain he would trip. But there he was, at the bottom with the rest of his squad. The two soldiers on horseback startled and turned. One pulled the bridle too hard. He was closest to Tauras. The horse reared and the soldier fell. Arnas took out the other rider. The two soldiers in the wagon jumped down, running toward the fray. The crack of gunfire rang under the clear blue sky. The day was too beautiful for bloodshed, Tauras wildly thought. It almost seemed absurd. But then Mykolas fell, clutching his side. Arnas and two other men drew the fire from the wagon. Tauras covered Mykolas, rifle searching for a target. Meanwhile, the fallen horse rider scrambled up and grabbed the rifle from his saddle. He pointed it at Tauras, finger squeezing the trigger. Nothing happened. The soldier looked up, panicked. The hammer was stuck. Tauras shouldered his own weapon, but the man's cries of help from his comrades, the fear in his eyes, gave Tauras pause. He had never been this close before. In battle, he was the one in the back, laying down suppressing fire. He had never seen the faces of the men his rifle shot. Tauras froze.</p><p>"Shoot him!" Arnas cried a moment before a bullet tore through his neck. The rifle fell from his grip. He staggered back, hands futilely pawing at the hole in his throat. The other two squad members were dead at his feet. Mykolas had stopped moving moments ago.</p><p>Everything went quiet then, as if they were underwater. The shock on Arnas' face morphed into a plea. He fell on his knees in front of Tauras, one hand outstretched. There was a distant <em>crack</em> of a rifle and Arnas pitched forward. It seemed he took an age to fall.</p><p>The world rushed back in, fast and loud, and Tauras found himself alone in a field surrounded by Russian soldiers. The two by the wagon were now rushing to the aid of the one with the jammed rifle, who by now had tossed it aside and was reaching for his sidearm.</p><p>Tauras looked around at his fallen squadron. And did the only thing he could.</p><p>He ran.</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>o</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Tilsit, East Prussia, 1869</strong>
</p><p>Tauras awoke with a jerk, heart pounding in his throat. He had been having that dream again. Though, was it a dream if it really happened?</p><p>Tauras lay in bed a few moments more, too shaken to return to sleep. Predawn light was just beginning to show through the two dormer windows of his garret room. A sudden need for fresh air came upon him. Tauras rose, shuffling over to one of the windows as quietly as he could. The other occupant of the room, a boy of about fourteen, gave a snort and turned over in his sleep. Tauras unlatched the window. It swung in with the bite of crisp winter air. Tauras shut his eyes, breathing in deeply. His stomach felt hollow. Not the kind of hollowness accompanied by hunger, but another kind — one that radiated throughout his whole body.</p><p>His nerves would be the death of him.</p><p>The sleeping boy gave a shudder, muttering something incomprehensible in his sleep, pulling the worn quilt tighter around him. He was Tauras' apprentice — and ward, of sorts. The boy — Raivis — was an orphan. He showed up at Tauras' shop four years ago asking for a job. From the look of him, Tauras guessed he had been living on the streets for some months. When asked about his family, the boy went quiet for a time before finally saying: "Papa died on the boat." He eventually discovered the boy was Livonian. His father had been a merchant seaman who often made port in Königsberg. Raivis had been sailing with his father since he was six, after his mother passed. After the death of his father, Raivis missed the boat on its return to Riga. He had spent the remaining months wandering from town to town, avoiding those who would put him in an orphanage — or worse, a workhouse.</p><p>Tauras closed and latched the window. He silently dressed and went downstairs to gather water for the day.</p><p>Stifling a yawn, Tauras grabbed two buckets and made his way up to the pump in the middle of the high street. Though his house was on the riverfront, the pollution from the factories upstream had made the water undrinkable. Besides, it was January — the riverbank was a solid sheet of ice. He hoped the pump was not frozen too. He really should have had Raivis fetch water yesterday evening.</p><p>As the sun had not yet risen, the rest of the residents of Tilsit were still asleep. Tauras would not have to wait in line, at least. He started working the pump. The handle felt loose at first. Whatever water had been in the pipe yesterday had drained back down into the well, which meant it had not frozen. Good. His arms continued pumping, up and down, up and down. The handle became harder to maneuver, requiring more pressure, but years of pulling printing levers had left his muscles lean and strong. The water pushed its way up the pipe. Tauras readied the first bucket. It was soon full. A few more pumps and the second one was brimming with water as well.</p><p>Tauras hefted the now much heavier buckets back down to his house. Once inside, he filled a metal kettle with some of the water. He lit a fire in the kitchen's small stove, warming both the water and his cold fingers.</p><p>Tauras' house was a grey-stone tumbledown three-story squashed between half a dozen others all of similar mien along the banks of the Memel river. The house gave the impression it might have once been charming with its dormer windows set into the roof, but time and neglect had eventually taken their toll by the time Tauras came to own it. The ground floor was almost completely taken up by his print shop, with a small kitchen in the back. A sitting room with a fireplace and some threadbare furnishings occupied the second floor with another smaller room off the back — currently serving as a bedroom for his cousin, Eduard, when he was not traveling. The garret above this was Tauras' and Raivis' room.</p><p>The only noticeable difference between Tauras' house and the rest lining this block of the river was the sign above the door, though it too appeared hardly distinguishable from the rest of the drab coloring that marked this quarter of Tilsit. The sign read <em>T. Laurinaitis — Printer </em>in what had once been handsome gold lettering, now soot blackened from the factories further upriver. Tauras would say he did not mind the sign's dull color, would say that it gave his shop an established presence, making it seem older than its five years, which was why he never cleaned it. But the truth was he minded it very much.</p><p>When his sign first started to darken, he would dutifully climb up and clean it every week — only to see it covered anew the next day. The town boys found it a great sport, throwing fistfuls of river muck up at his clean sign and watching it splatter down on whoever was unfortunate enough to pass beneath it.</p><p>In the years following, Tauras resigned himself to the fact his small print shop would just have to have a dirty sign. The young vandals succeeded in their mission of defacing his sign and — either knowingly or unknowingly — of their parents' mission to drive business away from the latest Lithuanian to settle in their town. Most of the clients he received now were the same familiar faces — all Lithuanian, like him. A few East Prussians would stop in every now and then — when they wanted something done for cheap, Tauras thought bitterly. Though it wasn't as if his little shop was not busy, thanks in no small part to his cousin. It was just the kind of business Eduard brought was not always the paying kind — or the legal kind, for that matter.</p><p>The hiss of the kettle drew Tauras from his thoughts. He removed it from the fire and spooned some tea leaves into a cup, noting his tin was running low — he would need to buy some more soon. Tauras poured the water from the kettle and settled with his tea at the table. His hands were still cold from that morning's pump run. He wrapped them around his cup, bringing it up to inhale the steam. Already he was feeling better from the warmth.</p><p>Tauras finished his tea, swirling the final dregs around in his cup. The leaves clung to the sides, forming symbols, as he drained the last bit down. Tauras smiled to himself as he tilted his cup, examining the images. The practice was something Feliks had taught him when they were younger. Something the blonde boy said he'd learned from the Roma travelers when they camped on his family's land. One of the symbols looked like a compass, signifying travel for business. Then again, it could have been a cross in a circle. The circle boded well, but the cross made Tauras shudder. At best, it meant trouble — at worst, it meant death.</p><p>Tauras turned his cup, continuing his examination. There was a fish, meaning good news from another country. Tauras thought of his homeland and doubted he would hear any good news from there for quite some time. An hourglass, another dangerous portent. Lines, travel again. And finally, a tree — a symbol of prosperity and happiness. Tauras snorted. This certainly was a contradictory cup.</p><p>The appearance of a disheveled head of curly dark blonde hair pulled Tauras from his musings.</p><p>"What's so funny?" Raivis yawned, rubbing his eyes.</p><p>Tauras set the cup aside. "Nothing. Are you hungry?"</p><p>Raivis nodded and sat.</p><p>Tauras used some of the heated water and made them each a bowl of porridge.</p><p>"I'll go to the market this afternoon, if we aren't too busy," he said, catching the disappointed look on Raivis' face as he set the bowl in front of him.</p><p>The boy looked up, face blanching. "N-no! I mean, I'm sorry, Mr. Laurinaitis — this is...it's fine, really."</p><p>"It's all right. You don't have to apologize, Raivis. We've eaten nothing but porridge and fish for the past week. I'm not sure my tongue or stomach can take another day of it."</p><p>Raivis grinned sheepishly, tucking into his bowl. Tauras forced a smile in return. Things had been difficult that winter — even with his cousin's prospects. Many times, Eduard's patrons could not afford to pay them for their work, though it still cost Tauras in terms of material used. Paper and ink were not cheap. But he and Eduard refused to give it up. The cause was much too great. So, too, was the risk.</p><p>Tauras poured the rest of the hot water into his cup, re-steeping his contradictory tea leaves. Maybe I'll have better luck this time, he thought.</p><p>But the leaves remained just as cryptic.</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>o</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>Eduard blew in with a January gust early that afternoon, shaking the printed pages as they hung drying on their line inside the shop. A few loosened from their pins and fluttered to the floor. Tauras hurried to gather them. He set them on a table with a pointed glare, but his cousin's blue eyes were alight with a singular focus as he swung something off his arm and onto the table. Tauras barely managed to rescue the papers from being squished beneath a heavy wicker basket.</p><p>"Stop your work, cousin, and close the shop!" Eduard announced happily. "Lunch is on me today."</p><p>"What are you on about?" Tauras groused, setting the gathered papers on his desk — as far away from his cousin as he could manage.</p><p>Eduard gestured at the basket on the table. He lifted the lid. Inside were bundles of parsnips, heads of cabbage, eggs, pears, apples, bacon, and sausage. Tauras' mouth fell open at the sudden — and plentiful — sight of food.</p><p>"That's not all," Eduard grinned. He pulled out a package wrapped in brown paper. "Open it."</p><p>Tauras cut the twine binding it closed, careful not to tear the paper — he might have to use it later. Peeling back one corner of the parcel, Tauras gasped.</p><p>"Is this...?"</p><p>"Black bread." Eduard's grin now stretched from ear to ear.</p><p>Tauras lifted the rye loaf out of its wrappings and up to his nose, breathing in the scent. It was still warm. It had been months since they had last had bread this fresh. Months.</p><p>"But, Eduard, did you...?"</p><p>Before Tauras could finish his question, however, Raivis drifted over to see what all the commotion was about. His eyes widened hungrily the moment he saw the bread. He began reaching for it.</p><p>Raivis' appearance effected a change in Tauras. He snapped, taut as a line, stuffing the bread back in the basket and all but shooing the boy away.</p><p>"Don't you have work to do?"</p><p>"I finished it."</p><p>"Well, good. Then you can take Mr. Janavičius his order." Tauras gestured to a small wrapped bundle on his desk.</p><p>"But what about the food?"</p><p>"Lunch will be ready when you get back."</p><p>Raivis groaned, a sound soon followed by his stomach's own protestations, as he pulled on his coat and hat.</p><p>Eduard stuck his hand in the basket and pulled out a pear. He tossed it to Raivis with a wink. As soon as the boy left, Tauras turned the sign hanging on the door from open to closed. He picked up the basket and went back to the kitchen to begin preparing a stew. Eduard followed, sneaking another pear from the basket and settling himself at the table.</p><p>"You don't need to be so hard on him," he said.</p><p>"I don't know what you mean," Tauras replied, busy sorting and storing what Eduard had brought.</p><p>Eduard gestured with the half-eaten pear. "You didn't have to send him out."</p><p>Tauras looked up, eyes darkening. "Where did you get all this?"</p><p>Eduard's grin returned. He drew himself up proudly. "A new contact — "</p><p>"Exactly!" Tauras hissed. "And <em>that's</em> why I sent him off. The boy has a mouth, Ed — one he doesn't know how to control. All it takes is one slip-up. One word to the wrong person."</p><p>Eduard leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. "He knows what we print — he knows where I go — "</p><p>"Yes, and that is <em>enough </em>for him to know. Perhaps too much, even. But there's nothing to be done for it."</p><p>"What, are you saying you don't trust him? Hell, you practically <em>raised</em> him."</p><p>"No. It's his mouth I don't trust."</p><p>Tauras began chopping up some of the parsnips, then removed the casings from two of the sausages and crumbled them into a pan. Soon the smokey smell of frying meat filled the kitchen. Into a boiling pot went the parsnips.</p><p>"So this new contact," Tauras began.</p><p>Eduard drew himself up. "Yes?"</p><p>"I gather they gave you a down payment. Which is how you were able to afford all this."</p><p>"They did."</p><p>"And is there —" Tauras winced, hating what he was about to ask — "is there anymore left?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>Tauras' whole body seemed to sigh with relief. "Good. I'm running low on paper. And binding material."</p><p>"I can get some later today, if you'd like."</p><p>"Yes. I'll write up a list."</p><p>"You, um, might want to have a look at our latest venture before you start," Eduard said.</p><p>"Oh?"</p><p>Eduard reached into his coat, in one of his many concealed pockets, and took out a book. He placed it on the table. Thicker than the prayer books and hymnals Tauras was used to printing, it was at least four-hundred pages. Depending on how many copies were requested, it would definitely use up a fair amount of supplies to reproduce. Tauras picked it up, examining the title. It was in German, and not anything he recognized.</p><p>"Is this new?"</p><p>Eduard nodded. "The benefactor is a professor at the university in Leipzig. He moved to Germany before the uprising but still has family back in Lithuania. He's been working on that book for quite a few years — even hoped to have it published back home, but..."</p><p>"But there's no chance of that now," Tauras murmured. He opened the book and began leafing through it. He soon frowned. "We're going to have to translate this, you know."</p><p>"Already covered." Eduard pulled out several notebooks and tossed them on the table. "I finished it on the train yesterday."</p><p>"I hope you added your translation services into the price," Tauras remarked.</p><p>Eduard laughed but soon stopped when he realized his cousin wasn't joking. "Oh come on, Tauras! We cannot charge for <em>every</em> little thing we do! It'll drive off business."</p><p>"I'm aware of that. But you should have tried, at least. This will take far more material than I had planned on purchasing. How many copies are we printing?"</p><p>Eduard flinched, his self-assured smirk faltering. "...Uh...twenty-five. B-but we don't have to do them all at once!" he hastily added, seeing the ire beginning to rise in Tauras' face. "I told him we would space it out over five different trips."</p><p>"Oh, we would, would we? And that's provided you aren't caught," Tauras snipped.</p><p>Eduard folded his arms bristling. "Well, considering I've been doing this for nearly four years now without incident — "</p><p>"Yes, yes. You're very elusive." Tauras waved his hand dismissively. He sighed, dropping his head into his hand, rubbing his brow. "And you were planning on leaving when? In a fortnight?"</p><p>Eduard nodded.</p><p>"That gives us time," Tauras muttered, as if to himself. "Though I still have the newspaper run to finish and the psalm book..."</p><p>As Tauras was doing some quick calculations in his head, the air in the kitchen was getting thicker. An acrid, burning smell soon filled the room.</p><p>"Shit, the sausages! Eduard, open a window!"</p><p>Tauras grabbed a rag, wrapped it around the panhandle, and tipped the burnt meat into the boiling water with the parsnips.</p><p>"Don't worry," Eduard coughed, fanning the smoke out, "I'm sure it'll taste fine."</p><p>Tauras sank into a chair and raked a hand through his hair. Eduard had been home for barely an hour and already chaos was erupting. He thought again of his tea leaves.</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>o</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>Later that afternoon, Tauras enlisted Raivis in finishing up the last pages of the psalm book Eduard would take on his next trip, while he began working on the book Eduard had shown him that afternoon.</p><p>The sun was beginning to set when Eduard returned with the items from Tauras' list, his face flushed, though not from the cold. He bolted the print shop door behind him. Going over to the window, he twitched the curtain aside, peering up and down the street.</p><p>"Ed?" Tauras called, looking up from his press. "Is everything all right?"</p><p>Eduard shook his head. "Spike heads. Coming down from the high street."</p><p>Tauras' face blanched. "What, they're coming <em>here</em>?"</p><p>"I don't know. They turned down an alley three blocks away. But they were heading toward the riverfront."</p><p>Tauras cursed under his breath. A visit from Prussian gendarmes — or "spike heads," as Eduard liked to call them — was the last thing he needed. They usually left the Lithuanians alone, but every now and then, they felt the need to reassert their authority. Being a printer, Tauras was already on their watch list. One slip and he could find himself being turned over to the Russian authorities at the border.</p><p>Eduard turned away from the window, depositing his purchases on a table in the middle of the room. "We need to clear away these prints."</p><p>Tauras nodded and ordered Raivis to take the papers up to their garret bedroom. There was a secret door hidden in the wall which opened to a narrow space that ran along the roof line. Raivis hid the papers under a loose board there, then hastened back downstairs.</p><p>Eduard went up to the second floor to watch from the sitting room window as three gendarmes emerged at the riverfront and turned, heading in the direction of his cousin's shop.</p><p>"They're getting close," he called downstairs.</p><p>Tauras had disassembled the printing plates and began cleaning the ink off the block letters. Raivis was doing the same at his smaller press, when there was a knock at the door.</p><p>Tauras looked at Raivis, a warning flashing in his dark eyes as he opened the door. He was greeted by a man wearing a crisp, deep forest green military uniform. The other two gendarmes hung back, gazes sweeping up and down the street.</p><p>"Mr. Laurinaitis?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"I am sergeant-major Beilschmidt, the new senior administrative official for this area. May I come in."</p><p>It was a statement rather than a request. One the sergeant-major had been accustomed to making. And one, Tauras felt, with which it would be unwise to argue. He stepped aside. Sergeant-major Beilschmidt entered, removing the point-topped helmet that had inspired Eduard's nickname. His hair was close-cropped and such a startlingly pale shade of blonde that it nearly looked white.</p><p>"Your sign outside is filthy," he remarked. "I could hardly make out what it said. You ought to clean it."</p><p>"I have. Though some of the local boys think it's funny to throw mud at it."</p><p>The sergeant-major made no comment. He strode around the small print shop, stopping to examine the letter drawers and various hand tools.</p><p>"Do you typically close your shop so early?"</p><p>"No. Although we weren't very busy today."</p><p>"Hm. The sign on your door still says 'Open' even though your door was locked."</p><p>Tauras swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "Apologies. I...must have forgotten."</p><p>Sergeant-major Beilschmidt's haughty face frowned momentarily, as if he were not convinced. His sharp eyes swept over the shop again, this time landing on a young man standing beside a small press at the back. Raivis had been unusually quiet, watching the Prussian apprehensively, no doubt afraid the man was there to cart him away to an orphanage.</p><p>"My apprentice," Tauras said, gesturing to Raivis.</p><p>The sergeant-major drew a deep breath, back straightening a little more as he turned back to Tauras.</p><p>"Your fingers are awfully black, Mr. Laurinaitis, for a printer who hasn't been busy."</p><p>Tauras' hands clenched reflexively into fists at his sides. "We've been cleaning the letter blocks and platens," — which wasn't wholly untrue. "Even a little ink can be terribly messy."</p><p>The Prussian continued his examination of the shop, eventually stopping at Tauras' desk. He took his time as he rifled through some of the papers, the silence and deliberation of his movements almost unbearable to Tauras. He forced himself to remain still, to keep his hands from reaching out to protect his desk from further defilement.</p><p>His impudent tongue, however, was not so easily controlled.</p><p>"What exactly does someone in your position — a senior administrative official — do?" he asked, his feigned interest tinged with contempt.</p><p>Sergeant-major Beilschmidt had picked up one of the prints that had loosened and fell from its drying line when Eduard arrived earlier that day, scrutinizing every detail. He lowered it, leveling his gaze at Tauras. A shudder seemed to ripple across his face at the question, much the same way Tauras would himself cringe inwardly whenever someone called him a priest.</p><p>"Border control, mostly. And enforcing order and discipline." He stepped over to Tauras, handing him the print. "You do remarkable work, Mr. Laurinaitis." A fleeting smile passed over his lips, one that seemed to Tauras oddly genuine. In a blink, however, it was gone. "It is a shame you haven't any more business. Though I dare say if you were to clean your sign, that might help improve your prospects. I have seen all I need to. Good day." The sergeant-major gave a small bow, lips twitching again in what could be a smile, and left.</p><p>
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  <strong>o</strong>
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  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>The following Sunday, as Tauras was again bringing water down from the pump, the sun's light bounced off something shining, catching his eye as he neared his shop. Squinting around for the source, Tauras eventually looked up and saw it was the gold lettering on his sign.</p><p>Someone had cleaned it.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N This fic is based off the Lithuanian book smugglers (Knygnešiai).  The book smugglers carried books and newspapers across the border into Lithuania from 1864-1904.  Following the failure of the January Uprising in Lithuania and Poland, imperial Russia enforced a ban on the Lithuanian language, as well as all Lithuanian publications. Books and other publications were printed across the border in East Prussia.  The first books smuggled into the country were prayerbooks.  As desire for national independence grew, political periodicals and newspapers were also snuck in.  If caught smuggling books, the penalty ranged from whipping to being deported to prison camps in Siberia.</p><p>January Uprising: referenced in Tauras’ dream/memory at the beginning, it began largely from a desire by Poland to return to the semi-autonomous status from before the insurgency in 1830 (the November Uprising).  The movement spread and eventually erupted in Lithuania in February 1863.  The priest in Kaunas is a reference to Antanas Mackevičius, a Lithuanian priest who led a squad of rebels in Kaunas.  Considering they were only armed with scythes and pitchforks, this squad was remarkable for their stamina during the fighting.  The insurgency was eventually overcome due to break downs in leadership and many of the fighters were either executed or sent to Siberia.</p><p>Raivis is from where?  Livonia.  Latvia, as we know it today, did not exist at the time this fic takes place.  Riga had a strong German population and German was the official language of administration until Russian in 1891.  So in this fic, Raivis speaks German.</p><p>Tilsit was a town in East Prussia, now present-day Sovetsk in Kaliningrad Oblast, situated along the Memel river (Neman in Russian).</p><p>Printing: the Gutenberg press was still widely in use at this time.  There were a few innovations in printing, namely the steam-driven rotary press developed in the United States, but it took awhile to catch on internationally.  Estimated printing times using the Gutenberg press: approximately 25 pages per hour.</p><p>Prussian Feldgendarmerie (of which Gilbert is a part) were a military police unit composed of infantry and cavalry non-commissioned officers.  Though they were military personnel, in times of peace, they served as a town’s police force.  One of the most distinguishing features of their uniform (besides the large metal gorgets worn around the neck) was the pickelhaube helmet which featured a large spike coming out the top to deflect sword blows aimed at the head.</p><p>Yes, I did change Toris’ name to Tauras in this fic.  There’s been debate in the fandom as to what his name actually should be because of issues with translating the Japanese.  Plus, since I am using place names and actual Lithuanian given names in the story, I wanted Tauras’ name to reflect that too, so I changed it.</p><p>This fic will alternate between flashbacks between Tauras’ time before and after the uprising and the present time in East Prussia.  We’ll also find out a bit more Eduard, too ;).  Thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <strong>Tauragė County, Lithuania, 1863</strong>
</p><p>The soldiers were at his heels.</p><p>The rifle dropped from his hands as Tauras scrambled up the mound. Bits of grass and dirt flew up around him as the one soldier fired off shots from his sidearm. A bayonet stabbed the earthwork where Tauras' foot had been seconds before. Somehow he made it to the top.</p><p>Crashing his way through tree cover, Tauras slid down the other side. The Russians, weighed down with their gear, were having a harder time climbing the steep slope. He was at least a hundred meters ahead by the time he heard them descending. Still not enough time or distance to return to camp. No matter. Tauras knew the woods in this county well, having spent many summers traipsing through them whenever Feliks would come to visit. He was east of one of the small tributaries that fed the Šešuvis river. Once he crossed that, he would be on his family's land.</p><p>Tauras put more distance between himself and the Russians, eventually reaching the river. It was narrow here and he waded across, the cool water a welcome relief to his tired, aching legs. He sat down in a clump of trees near the bank. If the soldiers had managed to follow him this far, he would surely hear them splashing their way across the river.</p><p>Tauras leaned back against a tree, catching his breath and weighing his options. Returning to the seminary in Varniai was out of the question — the city was overrun by Russian soldiers — and there was too much open country to try and cross with Tauras having no means of crossing it, other than his own two feet. He had no money, no food, and no supplies. Going back to camp was not a possibility either — the soldiers, if they weren't still chasing him, had probably found it by now and might set a trap and wait. He was, however, near the border. He could cross into East Prussia and wait this out. But Russian patrols were likely strong there. He would either need to find a way to sneak past them or go to Tauragė, follow the main road out of town, and cross properly at the border. The first option carried the greatest risk, and Tauras doubted his luck would hold out enough for him to slip across the border undetected. The second option was still risky, but legal, affording a lesser chance of being caught and sent to Siberia. Plus, his family's name carried weight. A small, arrogant part of him betted if the border guards gave him trouble, he would just need to give them his name and they would let him pass. But, looking at himself as he was now — his worn clothes, his dirty and scratched skin — the officials in Tauragė might think him no more than some deranged beggar. He would first need money and some decent clothes if he was going to go through with this.</p><p>And that meant going back home.</p><p>
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  <strong>o</strong>
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</p><p>The shadows were beginning to lengthen by the time he reached the forest that bordered the back of his family's estate. He kept his distance, watching from the trees. He would have to wait until nightfall to make his approach. His father would not wish to see him. His mother, maybe. Matas and Aurelija — his brother and sister...</p><p>A dull ache shot through his heart at the thought. <em>Of course</em> Matas and Aurelija would want to see him. And he did miss them terribly. Matas' birthday was coming up soon, Tauras thought absently. His brother would be thirteen — no longer a child, and undoubtedly a far cry from the naive little boy Tauras had known three years ago. But...there was a small, bitter part of him that had not forgiven Matas. Just as he had not — and would never — forgive his father.</p><p>The first stars were beginning to show as the lights in the house began to steadily extinguish. The family was getting ready for bed, though Tauras knew his parents would stay up at least another hour longer before finally retiring to their room.</p><p>Tauras stretched. His muscles, having been in motion the better part of the day, were now protesting at the sudden and prolonged stillness. His stomach soon joined in, having not eaten since that morning. He rubbed it, anticipating his family's well-stocked pantry, as he stared out across the grounds.</p><p>The sky above was now a deep, muddy blue. Clouds drifted over the pinpricks of stars. A waxing moon hung high above, casting its feeble light upon the house and the wide expanse of grass between it and the forest. This was the time to move.</p><p>Tauras emerged from his hiding place among the trees, then dashed on the tips of his toes across the grounds, slowing only once he reached the pebbled path that led to the basement kitchen. The small stones crunched under his feet, but with a few bounds, Tauras was at the door. He tried the handle first, surprised when it opened. A few of the servants must still be up, he thought, entering the house as silently as he could.</p><p>The kitchen was dark, save for the weak, amber glow of a candle guttering in the hall. The light moved, seeming to glow brighter. A shadow stretched along the wall behind it. A shape appeared, framed in the kitchen doorway. It was the head housekeeper, Rūta. She gave an audible gasp of surprise the moment her light fell on him.</p><p>"It's all right," Tauras whispered. "It's me."</p><p>"M-Master Laurinaitis!" she cried, hand covering her heart. "You gave me such a fright! What are you doing here?"</p><p>"Right now, looking for something to eat."</p><p>Rūta drew a steadying breath and nodded, her duty to the family overcoming her momentary shock.</p><p>A small candelabra stood in the center of a long table in the middle of the room. Rūta lit it and began slicing some bread and cheese and set them on a plate, her eyes occasionally casting Tauras a questioning glance. Forty years spent in service to the family, however, had taught her not to voice her wonderings unless invited.</p><p>Tauras sat and began devouring the food. The housekeeper then set a mug of ale and a cup of milk on the table. Tauras gulped them both down.</p><p>"Thank you," he rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.</p><p>Rūta frowned and shook her head. "Master Laurinaitis — forgive me, sir, for asking — but where <em>have</em> you been? Not at the seminary, surely, with manners like that."</p><p>Tauras felt his heart lighten at her gentle scolding. "Not as of late, no."</p><p>"Then where...?"</p><p>Tauras studied her a moment. Many of the servants did not agree with his father's politics. A few of the older ones were veterans of the first uprising some thirty years ago. Rūta had lost her brother in it.</p><p>"Are you — in trouble, sir?" Rūta asked.</p><p>Tauras gave a wan smile. "I might be," he said quietly.</p><p>Rūta's eyes widened, taking in his worn, disheveled appearance, the scratches on his arms and face, and understood. She crossed herself and sank onto the bench beside him.</p><p>"I just need some things from my room — clothes, money — then I'll be on my way."</p><p>Tauras rose and began making his way to the hall.</p><p>"Sir!" Rūta exclaimed as she stood. "You cannot, sir!"</p><p>Tauras turned. "And why not? Is my father still awake?"</p><p>"No, he isn't. It's...i-it's <em>them. </em>They're in the house."</p><p>"Who?"</p><p>"Russian soldiers. Your father's given them quarter. The officers are upstairs; the rest of the men are in the stables. I thought you were one of them when I came round the corner."</p><p>Tauras swore under his breath. He began pacing. His room was most likely being occupied, which left him no chance of getting in and getting provisions. And that only left him with one option for crossing the border: sneaking past God only knew how many Russian patrols.</p><p>"Sir?" Rūta ventured.</p><p>"What is it?" Tauras said, continuing his pacing, lost in thought.</p><p>"I could do it, sir."</p><p>"What? Do what?"</p><p>"I could get you what you need."</p><p>Tauras stopped. He turned slowly to look at her.</p><p>"I could do it," Rūta insisted again. "Just tell me what you need, sir. I'll get it tomorrow when they're out. I'll keep it in my room 'til the night comes, then leave it by the kitchen door 'round midnight. Would that — would that work, sir?"</p><p>"Rūta," Tauras breathed, a mix of gratitude and incredulity in his eyes. "Y-yes! I think that would."</p><p>Rūta smiled. "Right. That's settled, then."</p><p>Tauras thanked her and told her where to find the money stashed in his room and the clothes he would need. Before he left, Rūta gave him a small burlap bag. In it was some bread, fruit, and dried meat, a clay bottle filled with water, and a bar of soap.</p><p>"You might want to wash," she said, smirking, but a question lingered in her eyes.</p><p>Tauras took her hand. "Don't tell them you've seen me, Rūta. Even after I've gone. Please. Let them think I'm still at the seminary."</p><p>Rūta's eyes were damp as she looked at him and nodded.</p><p>Tauras thanked her again and set off across the darkened estate grounds for the woods beyond.</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>o</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>He awoke, as he was accustomed to, with dawn's first light. The grounds of his family's estate were covered in a shimmering dew. Tauras sat up, brushing dead leaves from his shirt and hair. He ate a little of what Rūta had given him, just enough to ease the hunger ache in his stomach. He watched the estate as it came to life — the curtains being drawn to let in the morning light, the gardener weeding the hedges, a maid collecting eggs from the henhouse. Everything ran with a rhythm, a routine, he had followed dutifully, predictably, in his youth. The same rhythm Matas and Aurelija were following now, their father guiding them, ensuring they would not fall out of step the way Tauras had.</p><p>He turned his gaze away from the house, the memories of his youth, while not unpleasant, were not wholly fond either. Tauras scanned the woods, mindful of what Rūta had told him last night, watching for the slightest disturbance that might indicate his hiding spot would be found. But it seemed the Russian soldiers had no need to patrol <em>this</em> particular forest for rebels. His father's sympathies may yet save him from being discovered. Tauras scoffed at the thought and hunkered down, clutching the burlap bag close. He would have to force himself to sleep the day to be rested and ready to leave that night. He shut his eyes, hoping that if anyone came upon him, he would be driven off as a beggar.</p><p>Still, sleep did not come easy. Tauras had learned from his squadron to keep an ear open for any sound, and the forest offered plenty — from creatures rustling in the fallen leaves to birds calling high in the branches. His fatigued mind and body eventually gave in to some form of rest as the afternoon wore into evening. When he next opened his eyes, night covered the estate grounds.</p><p>Tauras looked towards the house. The warm glow of candlelight emanated from the windows. Stars shone in the night sky, though the moon was not yet fully risen. He estimated it to be around ten o'clock. His mother and father were usually in bed by now. Tauras frowned. Something was wrong.</p><p>And then he heard it. The sound of a piano as someone opened the door leading to the back terrace. The swell of voices drifted out on the still night air.</p><p>Tauras cursed under his breath. His parents had chosen <em>tonight, </em>of all nights, to throw a party.</p><p>As Tauras watched, however, he realized this was not one of his parents' large gatherings. And Rūta would have told him last night if they were planning anything. No, this was something impromptu. Something, he felt, watching silhouetted figures emerge onto the terrace, that had to do with the officers occupying his house.</p><p>As the moon rose higher, Tauras wondered if Rūta had been able to get away long enough to leave his things by the door. Would any of the other servants notice or question her about it?</p><p>Tauras guessed by now it had to be midnight — or later. The moon was almost directly overhead and the party was just now starting to wind down. The door to the terrace had closed. Some of the lights upstairs had gone out. In the great room, someone tugged on a curtain. Tauras saw it jerk twice across the window, almost as if someone was trying to shake something out of it.</p><p>It happened again.</p><p>Tauras squinted into the darkness, willing his eyes to make out the person doing it, but they were indistinguishable from so far away.</p><p>He wondered if it was Rūta, trying to send him a message. Was she trying to tell him to stay away or to come to the house? The only way for him to know was to move.</p><p>Tauras' heart pounded in his throat as he stood. Taking a deep breath, he dashed across the grounds, coming to rest beneath the terrace. He strained his ears, listening for anyone who might be coming back out, before making his way around to the kitchen.</p><p>The terrace was quiet.</p><p>Tauras was just about to move when raucous voices erupted to his right. The enlisted men were having their own celebration in the stable block. The voices sounded like they were drawing closer. Tauras needed to move or he'd risk being seen.</p><p>He ducked to the left, keeping low along the terrace wall and moving as silently as he could along the pebbled walkway, sneaking down to the kitchen entrance.</p><p>There was no light in the kitchen, but Tauras saw, by the dim light of the moon and stars, a parcel waiting for him by the door. Rūta had placed everything in an old knapsack. Tauras grabbed it, making a quick rummage, feeling his clothes, money, and even the teeth of a comb and the cold metal handle of what felt like a razor. He smiled to himself a moment — Rūta really had thought of everything — then he flung the knapsack over his shoulder and cut a wide arc to the left, as far from the house as he could manage. He reached the tree-line and began picking his way back to his camp.</p><p>The forest was dense with shadows. Tauras could hardly make out his own hand in front of him. He kept to the edge, using the house and grey grounds as a guide, pausing every so often to listen for any indication he had been seen or followed. But all was still.</p><p>He reached his camp and put the burlap bag Rūta had given him the previous night into his knapsack. Tauras took one final look at the house behind him. Only the great room was now lit. The servants would be up for another half hour tidying it.</p><p>A desire to go back — to see his parents and brother and sister again — suddenly seized him. For a fleeting moment he believed, if he went back, it would somehow undo the past three years. Matas would never have betrayed him — his father would never have sent him away — he would never have joined the uprising — he never would have failed his comrades or seen them fall...</p><p>Tauras' throat tightened.</p><p>A sound pushed its way out, escaping as a breath. It could not be anything more for fear of making himself heard. Tauras covered his mouth, another sob straining at his throat. He drew a deep breath through his nose and turned, shouldering the knapsack, and set off through the woods. If he kept straight, he would come to the tributary. He would then follow it down to where it joined the Šešuvis. From there, it would be about a sixteen kilometer trek along the river before he reached the village of Gaurė. Then an additional twelve to Tauragė. He had about a five hour walk ahead of him. Tauras' feet ached at the thought, his whole body feeling suddenly tired. He ate some of the dried meat Rūta had packed and pressed on.</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>o</strong>
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  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>Dawn's light streaked through the sky as Tauras approached the town of Tauragė. He found an inn and, after rousing the innkeeper, paid for a meal and a room. He only intended to stay a few hours — time enough to eat, wash, change clothes, and shave the patchy stubble growing along his cheeks and jaw. Once he sat down on the bed, however, exhaustion overcame him and he was soon asleep.</p><p>The innkeeper woke him the next morning, threatening to charge him double if he did not vacate the room soon.</p><p>Tauras hurriedly washed, shaved, and dressed. He repacked his knapsack before leaving, hiding the paper money in his shoes should he run into any trouble, only keeping the coins and a few bills in his pants pocket. Tauras combed his knotted hair as best he could, then tied it back. He breakfasted at cafe near the town square.</p><p>The cafe was crowded.</p><p>Tauras managed to squeeze himself into a table near the back. As the waiter took his order, the couple at the table to his left got up. He felt himself relax a little at the newly vacated space. It was soon occupied, though, by the tallest man Tauras had ever seen. He wore a Russian officer's uniform — a captain, judging by the single red stripe on his shoulder boards.</p><p>Tauras' face grew flush. He picked up the newspaper the waiter had left him and hid behind it.</p><p>The man swept the brimmed cap from his head and sat. Tauras watched him from behind his newspaper. His ash-colored hair was almost indistinguishable from the rest of his pale face. His eyes reminded Tauras of a frozen lake — betraying no depth, but something lurked there, far below the surface. The man smiled warmly as he spoke to the waiter, but the moment he was gone, the Russian's face adopted an inscrutable look once more.</p><p>A few moments later, Tauras' order arrived. He set the newspaper down, unable to hide behind it while eating at the small table. He kept his gaze determinedly fixed on his plate and cup of coffee, though he could see the man watching him.</p><p>Unable to feign ignorance any longer for fear of seeming too suspicious, Tauras lifted his head as he drank his coffee, watching the other people in the cafe over the rim of his cup. The man shifted in his seat, the motion drawing Tauras' attention. He caught the man's eye, then lowered his gaze away with an apologetic smile.</p><p>"Please forgive my rudeness," the man said, seizing the opportunity to speak. "I do not mean to stare. It's just...you look very familiar. Have we met?"</p><p>"Not to my knowledge. I think I would remember meeting someone like you," Tauras said, eyes sweeping over the man's shear size.</p><p>The man laughed. "Captain Ivan Braginski," he offered by way of introduction.</p><p>"Tauras Laurinaitis."</p><p>Captain Braginski's eyes widened in recognition. "Ah! Of course. You are Juozas' son, yes? You look just like him."</p><p>Tauras sipped his coffee to hide his grimace. "Yes. I've been told that."</p><p>The captain's order arrived. Tauras hoped this would be the end of their conversation, but the officer was all too content to carry on.</p><p>"I dined with your family this past spring. Your father said you were at the seminary in Varniai."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>Silence stretched between them. Tauras knew the captain was waiting for him to elaborate, to explain why he was here, in Tauragė.</p><p>Tauras cleared his throat. "I'm...going to visit my cousin in Germany for the summer."</p><p>There was a half truth to that statement. He <em>did</em> have a cousin in Germany, though the thought of visiting Eduard had not crossed his mind until he spoke it aloud.</p><p>"And how does he like it there?"</p><p>"Fine, I suppose. Although he — "</p><p>Tauras stopped himself, feeling it would not be prudent to divulge that secret to a Russian officer who seemed to hold his family in some regard.</p><p>But the captain's brow was raised, a burgeoning interest evident in his eyes.</p><p>Tauras gave a resigned sigh. "He didn't have much of a choice. His father sent him off to school there when he was young. No one in the family really — except for me, no one in the family keeps in contact with him."</p><p>"Why is that?"</p><p>Tauras glanced around the cafe. Many of the people knew his family. Some probably even knew of the scandal involving his uncle and his German maid twenty-one years ago. None knew of Eduard, though — the illegitimate son their dalliance produced. The family had worked hard to keep Eduard's existence hushed up until his uncle finally sent the boy away upon the insistence of his wife.</p><p>"My apologies, captain. That is...not the kind of gossip for a public cafe," Tauras said, lowering his voice. "I do not wish to betray my cousin's trust — nor my family's — by revealing it here."</p><p>Captain Braginski grinned conspiratorially. "Some other time, then."</p><p>"Perhaps," Tauras said with a deferential nod. He then paid for his meal and excused himself, taking leave of the Russian captain before any more questions could be put to him.</p><p>Tauras was never so thankful to be outside. The sky overhead was clear. In the distance, fat white clouds were gathering. And Tauras felt he could finally take the first decent breath of air he'd had since he climbed that mound. He soon found the main road, letting it lead him out of town and to the border crossing.</p><p>As he crossed the bridge over the Jūra river, a group of Russian soldiers was heading the opposite way. One of them looked up and over at him as they passed. Tauras did the same, perhaps having become a bit lax due to the fair weather and the thought that, soon, he would be free from the threat of capture.</p><p>It happened in the blink of an eye.</p><p>The soldier stopped and turned with a shout: "Hey!"</p><p>Tauras continued on, hoping the man was not calling out to him, despite the warning growing in his head.</p><p>"Hey!" the soldier yelled again.</p><p>The sound of footfalls behind him, Tauras did not look over his shoulder but broke into a run. He was soon overtaken by three men — two grabbing him from behind, pulling him down. He landed on the ground, the breath flying from his lungs. Tauras gasped for air as the third man — the one that had called out — approached, fisted a hand in his hair, and yanked his head back.</p><p>"Well?" one of the men asked.</p><p>The other nodded. "It's him. Take him to the captain."</p><p>The two men that had tackled him hooked their arms under his and lifted him to his feet. They pulled the knapsack from his back and bound his hands before him in iron cuffs. The man that called out gave Tauras a nasty sneer as he shouldered the Lithuanian's bag and set off back across the bridge. The two men behind Tauras gave him a shove to get him moving. His feet dragged though his mind was working feverishly. He had a feeling he knew who "the captain" was, though how could Braginski have mobilized men so quickly to come after him? He had left the captain's company hardly fifteen minutes ago. And these men were coming <em>into</em> the town, not going out of it.</p><p>The more he thought of it, the more certain he became these soldiers had not been sent by captain Braginski. Then why had they accosted him? This all had to be a misunderstanding, Tauras thought. Except the man now holding his knapsack seemed to recognize him. But how? He thought back to his family's estate. He was fairly certain none of the soldiers there had seen him. Maybe the man had come upon him in the woods while he was sleeping. But if he had, why wait until <em>now</em> to take him prisoner?</p><p>Another thought crossed his mind — one that made his blood freeze. That the soldier had been one of the ones he had ambushed. One of the ones he had been running from. Tauras tried to remember their faces, but everything was a chaotic blur of gunshots and shouts.</p><p>He cursed himself for having lost a day to sleep. He should have kept pressing on. He could have slept all he wanted once he reached Prussia. And now...now he had to rely on his brief rapport with a Russian captain and hope this would all get straightened out.</p><p>A short distance from the bridge stood a three-story brick building. The customs house. A stone wall, at least four meters high, stretched out from the left and right. The soldiers marched Tauras through one of the heavy, arched wooden doors set into it. Beyond the wall was a rectangular courtyard with a few smaller buildings inside. One of the men grabbed Tauras' shoulder, pulling him to the left. They entered the main building. He was jerked to the left again and shoved down a hallway. The captain's office was at the end.</p><p>An ashen blonde head was bent over a stack of papers. The captain finished adding his signature to one and looked up, eyes falling on Tauras.</p><p>"Ah, Mr. Laurinaitis! We meet again."</p><p>The soldier holding Tauras' knapsack cleared his throat. "Sir," he said with a quick salute.</p><p>The two soldiers behind Tauras snapped to attention. Captain Braginski's face shifted from mild amusement back to the expressionless guise Tauras had seen at the cafe.</p><p>"What is it, corporal? Why have you handcuffed Mr. Laurinaitis?"</p><p>The corporal looked at the captain with a somewhat bemused expression. He quickly recovered himself, however. "Sir, I'm — not sure how you know this man, but believe me when I say he is a rebel. He is part of the uprising and is responsible for the attack made against myself and my fellow soldiers three days ago."</p><p>Captain Braginski slowly stood, his height seeming to fill the room. Tauras noticed the corporal shrink away as the captain strode over and addressed him.</p><p>"This man?" the captain said, gesturing to Tauras. "He attacked you all alone?"</p><p>"N-no, sir. There were four others with him. He — he fled, sir."</p><p>Captain Braginski swung his head around, eyeing Tauras with a look that suggested he did not quite believe the corporal's accusation. He then turned back to the corporal and led him over to a corner of the room. They began conversing in such fast, hushed Russian, Tauras could hardly make out what they were saying. Once or twice he thought he heard the word "family." Then the corporal gestured to the knapsack he was carrying. Captain Braginski fell silent at that, thinking for a moment. He nodded to the corporal, then resumed his seat at his desk. He looked up at Tauras with those eyes, so like a frozen lake.</p><p>"Is this bag all you have with you?"</p><p>"Yes," Tauras said, a cold dread settling in his stomach.</p><p>The captain leaned back in his chair, rolling his wide shoulders back. "You are traveling awfully light for someone visiting their cousin for the summer. Tell me, what we would find" — the captain gestured for the knapsack — "if we were to look in here?"</p><p>Tauras saw the ice in the captain's eyes beginning to crack. He would soon know what those depths contained.</p><p>"J-just — " A chill ran down Tauras' arms. His hands were clammy as he watched the corporal set his bag on the captain's desk.</p><p>"Yes?"</p><p>"Just some — some clothes, and — a-and — "</p><p>The captain stood, not waiting for him to finish, and upended the bag, sending the contents spilling out onto his desk. He examined the food in the burlap bag, then moved onto the tattered pants and shirt. He set the items down, glowering up at Tauras with a displeased sigh.</p><p>"S-sir! C-captain, please! My family — th-they don't know. They have nothing to do with this. Please! D-don't — "</p><p>"Don't what? You are in no position to bargain or make demands."</p><p>Tauras fell silent.</p><p>"You have been brought here, an accused insurgent. The corporal has given testimony against you, and, knowing your family, I was disinclined to believe it. But what little you have with you and the state of the clothes in your bag would suggest what he tells me is true. You have yet to deny this charge and your earlier outburst lends further credence. Rather than speculate any further, I will ask you plain: Is what the corporal says true? Are you with the uprising?"</p><p>Tauras bowed his head. Beyond the window the clouds were darkening, casting a grey shadow over the captain's room. He thought again of Matas and Aurelija, of his mother, Rūta who had helped him. He had damned them all the moment he left the seminary, the moment he had joined the revolution. Tears brimmed in his eyes.</p><p>"My family...<em>p-please</em>..."</p><p>"No harm will come to your family. You have my word."</p><p>Tauras looked up, tears streaming silently down his cheeks.</p><p>"Are you with the uprising?" the captain demanded again.</p><p>Tauras flinched and nodded. "Yes," he breathed.</p><p>Captain Braginski leaned down, flattening his hands on his desk as he held Tauras' gaze. "You lied to me," he said, his voice deadly calm. "You've dishonored your family. You are responsible for the deaths of men — <em>good </em>men — whose only wish was to serve the Empire. You are a traitor. And as such, you shall be punished as one. There is a transport scheduled to depart for Kara in six days' time, and you shall be on board. But first, the lash."</p><p>Tauras' chin trembled. He felt suddenly dizzy. The walls were spinning, pressing in on him, squeezing the air from the room. He'd heard about Kara — the system of prisons set up around the river that also bore the name, where the prisoners mined gold for the tsar day in and day out. He lurched to the side. One of the soldiers caught him and pushed him back up.</p><p>"Tell me," the captain said, addressing him, "if you were studying to be a priest, you must know your scriptures well, yes?"</p><p>Tauras nodded, the action feeling disconnected and foreign, as if someone else had made his head move.</p><p>"Then you shall receive your forty lashes minus one."</p><p>Tauras' legs would no longer support him. He felt himself sinking to his knees. But the soldiers were ready and grabbed him around the arms before he could hit the floor.</p><p>"Take him to the courtyard," the captain ordered them. "I will join you presently."</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>o</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Tilsit, East Prussia, 1869</strong>
</p><p>After two weeks filled with long days and nights spent cranking out page after page, the books and newspapers were ready. Eduard was due to leave the following day, meeting up with a coach on the high street mid-morning. The newspapers had been hidden in the inner lining of his coat. The books were in a secret compartment in his suitcase. He had packed and re-packed the case several times, wanting to get the load distribution right so it would feel balanced in the hand in the event the border guards decided to inspect his belongings.</p><p>He and Tauras were upstairs in the second floor sitting room. Raivis was downstairs, organizing the letter cases for what must have been the fifth time that week. The number of menial, repetitive tasks Tauras set him always increased the closer the time came for Eduard's departure.</p><p>Tauras stood by the window, looking out as a light snow fell. His thumb and forefinger absently twirled the small, golden cross he wore around his neck as he watched the flakes disappear into the grey waters of the Memel. The cross had been a gift from Feliks eleven years ago. In another lifetime. One that almost did not seem like his.</p><p>"You're worried," Eduard said. He was sitting on the threadbare sofa, polishing his shoes.</p><p>"I'm always worried." Tauras tucked the cross back under his shirt collar, still watching the snow.</p><p>Eduard held the shoe up to the light, checking to make sure he had covered every scuff mark. Satisfied with his work, he began on the other one.</p><p>"I've been doing this for four years, Tauras. And I was swindling the good people of Saxony long before that. Give me <em>some</em> credit."</p><p>Tauras looked over at Eduard, struck by his cousin's flippant attitude. "I do. Believe me. But I can't help worrying every time you — you leave."</p><p>"Always good to know at least someone in the family cares for my well-being."</p><p>"This isn't a joke, Ed! Maybe I would worry <em>less </em>if you took this seriously for a change!"</p><p>Eduard set the shoe and polishing rag down, eyeing his cousin over the rims of his glasses. "I <em>do</em> take it seriously. Why else would I go to all this trouble — finding contacts and shining my goddamn shoes, dressing up and pretending to be some highborn German citizen — just to help you smuggle books across the border? You don't know <em>half </em>of what I do to keep the shop's expenses from dipping into the red so we can keep this up. So forgive me if I don't spend the days wringing my hands over it."</p><p>"No — I know. And I'm sorry. It's just I — I couldn't...if anything ever happened to you, I couldn't — " Tauras broke off, shaking his head. He turned back to the window.</p><p>Eduard stood and went over to him, placing a hand on his cousin's shoulder. Tauras tensed and drew away.</p><p>"I'm doing it again, Ed," he said thickly. "I'm putting my family in danger again and for what? A language that can't even mourn its loss. What does it matter?"</p><p>"What it represents matters," Eduard said softly.</p><p>Tauras continued to stare silently out the window.</p><p>Eduard pressed his lips together, watching his cousin a moment, then went back to his polishing, leaving Tauras with his thoughts.</p><p>The sky outside had darkened from a flat white to an iron grey as the sun began to set.</p><p>"I'm going out," Tauras said at length.</p><p>Eduard looked up, his glasses slipping down his nose. "It's almost dinner time."</p><p>"I'm not hungry."</p><p>With a few quick strides, Tauras was already descending the stairs before Eduard could even object. He startled Raivis, who seemed to have fallen asleep leaning against one of the letter cases. The boy jumped up, about to apologize, but Tauras was already swinging his coat over his shoulders and disappearing through the front door.</p><p>Tauras made his way down the riverfront, tugging his collar up and over his cheeks, head bowed against the falling snow. There was a pub on the corner four blocks away where the men that worked on the river would gather. It was here Tauras headed.</p><p>The din of raucous voices could be heard even before he entered. A dull amber light spilled out from the windows and onto the street. Tauras opened the door, pushing his way through drunken dockhands and barge captains to a table at the back. He ordered a beer and drank it slowly, his mind too preoccupied with Eduard's trip. He did not know why, but something felt different this time. Yes, he always worried whenever Eduard left, knowing all too well what his cousin was risking for him. But that worry had never consumed him as much as it did now. He thought back to the tea leaves the day Eduard had come home with the basket and the book. It was ridiculous to believe in such superstitions, yet he could not get the symbols out of his head. And he knew if he confessed his fears to Eduard, his cousin would simply laugh it off like he always did.</p><p>Tauras' gaze roamed over the pub and the people within — a rough mix of Lithuanians, like him, and the Prussians that lived along the river. The other residents of Tilsit would not dare to venture down this way once the sun set. Everyone knew the riverfront was full of nothing but lecherous barge hands and immigrants. So it came as a surprise to see a head of such shocking white-blonde hair among the dingy mariner's caps that normally filled the pub. Tauras would have thought the sergeant-major would have stayed on his side of the high street, closer to the garrison. He was not in uniform and already seemed a few drinks in from the boisterous laugh that erupted from his throat. Tauras finished his beer, deciding now was a good time to leave, not fancying another run-in with the Prussian gendarme, drunk or sober. He pushed his way back through the crowd, unaware of the pale set of eyes following him.</p><p>A few flurries drifted lazily down, swirling about on the light breeze from the river. A thin blanket of snow crunched under Tauras' feet as he made his way back to his house.</p><p>The tolling of church bells broke through the quiet of the evening. It was six o'clock. Still early. Tauras paused at the street corner, thinking. Then he turned and headed up to the high street.</p><p>The church stood just north of the river, bordering the market square, its dark spire piercing the skies above the dilapidated houses that marked this quarter of Tilsit. It was Lutheran, and Tauras, having been raised Catholic, felt more than a little out of place as he approached. Not counting the seminary, the last time he had been in a church was when his father had dragged him to the village parish in Batakiai. A leaden weight settled in Tauras' gut at the thought. Every Sunday his family would take the trip down from their estate and into the village to attend mass. He had received four of the seven sacraments there. Baptism, Eucharist, Confirmation. And Penance. But <em>that day </em>he had gone alone with his father, the carriage thick with tension as it trundled along, the grinding of the wheels along the rutted track deafening amid the silence within. His father had taken him by the arm, pulling him into the church, and made him kneel in prayer to ask for forgiveness, for absolution from his trespasses.</p><p>For hours his father made him pray.</p><p>Then it was time for penance.</p><p>Tauras' knees ached as he stood and limped his way over to the confessional. He focused on the pain, his heart too numb to feel anything else. <em>Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. </em></p><p>Though how could loving someone be a sin, even if that person was another man? Tauras asked God countless times that day. He never received an answer.</p><p>That was the day he had lost his faith.</p><p>And now here he was, crawling back to some semblance of it. Tauras pushed open the door. The church was quiet, empty. The only light was that of a few long, thin candles on a round metal stand. Tauras approached, wondering if these were like the votive candles he would sometimes light after mass. There was a box on a small shelf beside the bracket. In it were more candles. Tauras took one out, touching its wick to one of the lighted ones, and set his candle in a holder. There was nowhere to kneel, so he took a seat in a nearby pew, watching his flame flicker and dance.</p><p>The ritual seemed just as futile as reading tea leaves. But maybe that was not the point. It was not the action itself but something far more intangible. <em>What it represents matters,</em> Eduard had said. And perhaps that held true here as well.</p><p>Thinking of his cousin again, Tauras leaned forward, head bowed, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped. And prayed:</p><p>
  <em>Dear Lord, please keep him safe.</em>
</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N First I just wanna say a tremendous Thank You to everyone who has supported this little story! You guys have blown me away—I honestly did not expect this to get picked up so fast. You all are the best!</p><p>So I did edit some little things in the first chapter — I had been using the Russian name for the river in Tilsit (present-day Sovetsk In Kaliningrad Oblast) instead of the German one, so I went back and changed it. Sorry for any confusion.</p><p>The Tauragė customs house (known today as Tauragė Castle) — the building Tauras is taken to by the Russian soldiers. It housed a border prison where contraband smugglers and border trespassers (and later, book smugglers) were temporarily kept.</p><p>Border crossing in the 19th century — in general, waaaaaay more relaxed than it is today. In my research, I found a political cartoon of Germans and French guards at a border sign, joking and trading cigarettes while people walked across the border in the background. Imperial Russia did have a passport system introduced in 1719. An internal passport was used by citizens traveling within the Empire but outside of their registered place of residence. It's likely, given that Lithuania was a part of the Russian Empire at this time, Tauras would have needed a passport to cross the border, but I really couldn't find any detailed information on passport use in the 19th century—there was plenty of stuff talking about passports and identity documents during the Soviet era, tho.</p><p>Kara katorga — a set of prisons located along the Kara River in the Transbaikalia region of Russia. Katorga was a system of penal labor. The inmates in Kara were used to mine gold. Many of them were criminal convicts, but following the Polish-Lithuanian uprisings in 1830-31 and 1863-64, many of the captured insurgents were sent here as well as a number of Russian revolutionaries.</p><p>Forty lashes minus one — a punishment listed in the Old Testament Book of Deuteronomy. According to ancient belief, a man could not endure forty lashes and live. According to the New Testament Book of Corinthians, the apostle Paul received "the forty lashes minus one" five separate times.</p><p>Catholicism vs. Lutheranism — Lutheranism is one of the largest, and oldest, branches of Protestantism, identifying with the teachings of Martin Luther who sought to reform theology and the practice of the church. Structurally, both the Catholic mass and the Lutheran service are very similar (full disclosure: I was raised Catholic, survived 8 years of Catholic school, and have been to both Catholic and Lutheran services) but their belief systems are very different. For example, in the Catholic faith, the Pope is the final word when it comes to religious authority, whereas in Lutheranism the Bible is the final word. Catholicism also has seven sacraments whereas Lutheranism only has two, baptism and communion.</p><p>I am probably gonna post some links and photos on my Tumblr tagged as #the book smuggler that I've used for research for this story.  Username is the same as here: lithugraph.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Tauragė County, Lithuania, 1847-1852</strong>
</p><p>For as long as Tauras could remember, Eduard had always been there. The blonde boy with stick-straight hair and blue eyes. His nursery companion.</p><p>It was rumored that he was the orphan of some German transients from Tauragė, that Juozas Laurinaitis and his wife had taken pity on the poor couple and took their son in to raise as their own. And it was a rumor Tauras' father was all too happy to propagate. Though Tauras always found it curious whenever <em>he</em> was fetched from the nursery to be brought before his parents, Eduard would stay behind. Did no one ever want to see him? Though Tauras secretly envied Eduard. Time spent with the grown-ups was terribly boring. They always wanted him to sit still, be quiet and not interrupt. He longed for his time with mother and father to end so he could run back to the nursery and play with Eduard.</p><p>Tauras always took the lead in whatever games they played. He was older than Eduard by five months and therefore felt that placed him in the role of leader.  Eduard, who tended to shyness, happily followed Tauras in whatever adventure he planned.</p><p>One rainy afternoon, shortly after Eduard's fifth birthday, the boys were looking at a picture book of medieval knights while Nanny dozed by the fireplace. While Tauras was exclaiming over the swords and halberds, Eduard pressed his nose closer to the book, eyes squinched up, trying to make out the objects of Tauras' excitement.</p><p>"But it's <em>right there</em>, Eduard," Tauras declared, impatiently jabbing a finger at the illustration. "Can't you see it?"</p><p>However before Eduard could answer, one of the servants entered, startling Nanny from her nap, and said the lord and lady were ready to receive their son.</p><p>Tauras heaved a sigh and picked up the book, determined to let his father know of Eduard's poor eyesight.</p><p>The servant led Tauras to the drawing room where he stood before his father and said with all the gravity a five-year old could muster: "Papa, Eduard needs glasses."</p><p>Juozas Laurinaitis, puffed out a small laugh, momentarily stunned. "Glasses?"</p><p>"Yes. Like the kind uncle Benas wears."</p><p>Juozas and his wife shared a look at the mention of his younger brother's name.</p><p>"He can't see the pictures," Tauras continued, holding out the book as if it was definitive proof.</p><p>"Ah. I see," Juozas said diplomatically. "Well then, we shall consider it."</p><p>Tauras beamed, gave a small bow, and sat at their feet to continue his perusal of the fascinating illustrations.</p><p>Just before Christmas, Eduard got his glasses. Being able to see properly effected a change in him. Though he still happily let the older boy take the lead in their playtime, Eduard's daring grew until it was on par with Tauras'. And that was not the only noticeable change. With his new glasses, Eduard bore a striking resemblance to uncle Benas — so much so that Tauras' grandmother remarked on it at Christmas dinner after gifts were exchanged. Eduard had accepted his present from the family and then was sent off with Nanny. Juozas and his wife again shared a look. At the other end of the table, uncle Benas just looked sad while his wife gave him a cold glare. Tauras rubbed his eyes. He supposed he would be sad too if aunt Agnė always looked at him like that. He wished Eduard was there, but Eduard always dined with the servants.</p><p>As they grew older, their games extended beyond the four walls governed by Nanny, spilling out into the rest of the estate. There were countless days spent roaming the gardens or racing through the low hedge mazes to see who could find their way out first. When the weather was poor, the boys passed their time playing hide-and-seek with Nanny in the estate's endless rooms. There were so many places to hide, so many places to explore.</p><p>Uncle Benas had taken to visiting more and more often. He usually wandered the halls or the gardens alone, as if a stranger in his own brother's house. Sometimes aunt Agnė accompanied him, and when she did, the boys were kept firmly in the nursery.</p><p>One day in late spring, Eduard and Tauras were playing outside, chasing each other through the hedge maze, when they ran into uncle Benas, sitting on a stone bench, staring at the bushes in a daze. The boys stopped abruptly when they saw him, Eduard tripping over his feet and landing sprawled on the gravel path, stirring uncle Benas from his reverie. He knelt down, helping Eduard to his feet. The boy's cheeks turned pink as he stammered out an apology.</p><p>But uncle Benas was smiling as he said: "That's quite all right. How are you?"</p><p>The way he said it reminded Tauras of the way his father greeted the villagers after Sunday mass, his concern for their well-being evident and genuine.</p><p>Eduard looked up timidly. "I'm fine."</p><p>The corners of uncle Benas' eyes crinkled as he gave a warm laugh. "Good. I'm glad to hear it."</p><p>He remained a few moments more, watching Eduard, the delight in his eyes eventually diminishing to something more solemn.</p><p>Across the grounds came Nanny's sharp voice, calling the boys to lunch.</p><p>Uncle Benas stood, holding out a hand to Eduard. "Take care."</p><p>Eduard grasped it and nodded. Then he turned and ran off back through the maze, Tauras chasing close behind.</p><p>Nearing the end of uncle Benas' stay, the weather worsened as afternoon thunderstorms rolled in. At the request of Tauras' father, the boys were confined to the walls of the nursery, spending most of their time reading or drawing out on paper the adventures they would have had, had the sunny days kept up. Finally, on the day before uncle Benas was to depart, Nanny released them to roam the halls of the estate, unable to stand their restless energy any longer. She promised them a game of hide-and-seek, and the master and his brother were both out attending to a matter in the village.</p><p>Tauras took off down the hallway the moment Nanny opened the door, pulling Eduard behind him. A few weeks ago, he had found a wonderful new hiding spot in the library that he wanted Eduard to see — one of the book cases moved like a door, revealing a set of narrow stairs the servants used to maneuver about, unseen by the rest of the family.</p><p>Tauras found the small, ringed handle set into the side of the case. With a few tugs, the case swung forward enough to allow the boys to slip into the dark stairwell. He closed the bookcase door behind them, leaving it open just a crack to allow light in. Tauras remained by the door, keeping one eye on the library should Nanny discover their hiding place. They could zip down the stairs and be in the servants hall in a matter of seconds.</p><p>Minutes ticked by.</p><p>This wing of the house was quiet, save the pattering of rain as it lashed the high windows. Tauras could feel Eduard growing restless, his feet shuffling back and forth in agitation at having to be still for so long.</p><p>He was just about to suggest they go and find somewhere else when Tauras made a shushing sound.</p><p>"There's someone coming."</p><p>Eduard perked up, the thrill of Nanny catching them set upon him. Their boring hiding place had suddenly become much more interesting.</p><p>"I want to see."</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Why not? You've been standing there this whole time — "</p><p>"Shhh!"</p><p>Eduard's mouth snapped shut. He folded his arms, leaning against the stairwell wall, pouting.</p><p>"It's not Nanny," Tauras said. "It sounds like...like uncle Benas. And Papa!"</p><p>Both boys' eyes widened in the dark. Suddenly their harmless game had become something more dangerous. Nanny had broken the rules, letting them out of the nursery. And now that Papa and uncle Benas had come home early, they were bound to be discovered.</p><p>"Let's <em>go</em>, Tauras," Eduard begged, pulling the other boy over to the stairs.</p><p>"No, wait!" Tauras hissed, shaking off Eduard's hand. The way the grown-ups were acting had caught his attention. He wanted to know what they were discussing.</p><p>Uncle Benas and Papa were both soaking wet from their ride back from the village. Tauras surmised they must have gone on horseback, eschewing the carriage. The morning had been delightful — not a cloud in the sky, until just before noontime, when the rain came.</p><p>Papa stood in the middle of the room, arms folded, glaring at his brother's back as Benas poured himself a drink from a nearby sideboard.</p><p>"This has got to stop, Benas."</p><p>Tauras' uncle straightened up, swallowing down the honey-colored liquor in one gulp.</p><p>"You've made your point plainly, brother. On countless occasions."</p><p>"Clearly not plain enough, for it has yet to sink in! You're just going to confuse the boy if you keep this up."</p><p>Benas fixed another drink, sweeping his soggy hair back from his face. It was straight, like Eduard's, though darker and shaggier.</p><p>"Oh! You are one to talk, you hypocrite!" Benas scoffed, rounding on Juozas. "Who's the one who has been raising him along side his own child? Who's the one who has been treating him nearly equal?"</p><p>Juozas dropped his head into his hand, rubbing his brow.</p><p>"When we took him in, we agreed — we <em>agreed</em> — that there would be no contact — "</p><p>"Forgive me, then, for having such a weak heart! Eduard is <em>my son</em> and I have a right to see him!"</p><p>From the concealed door there came an audible gasp. Both men stopped their arguing and turned their heads, looking at the bookcase.</p><p>In the stairwell, Eduard clapped his hand over his mouth. Tauras looked at him, agape, as the truth exploded around him. He pulled Eduard — his cousin — into a tight embrace as the blonde boy began to cry.</p><p>The door was wrenched open.</p><p>Juozas and Benas stood in the entry, staring down at the two boys. Juozas wrapped a hand around each of their arms, dragging them into the room. He went over to the bell pull and rang for a servant. Tauras stood, eyes fixed on the rug, hands clenched into fists at his sides. Eduard continued to softly cry beside him. Benas reached out a hand to place on his son's shoulder, but Eduard shrank away.</p><p>"Leave us, Benas," Juozas said, his voice deadly calm. Then, seeing his brother about to protest: "Leave! Now!"</p><p>Benas obeyed.</p><p>"You are not to repeat <em>any</em> of what you have heard today," Juozas fumed, once the door had shut. "Do you understand me?"</p><p>Both boys nodded at once, not wishing to incur further displeasure.</p><p>"I should have separated you two right from the off. But perhaps now it's not too late."</p><p>The door to the library opened. It was Rūta, the head housekeeper.</p><p>"Take Eduard to the butler," Juozas said without preamble. "He is to become the new hall boy effective immediately."</p><p>Rūta nodded and, without a word, led the boy from the room, his tears now streaming harder as he and his newfound cousin were separated.</p><p>Tauras, meanwhile, shook with quiet rage. "Why did you do that? You didn't have to send him off."</p><p>"We are not having this discussion now — "</p><p>"Why did you do it!?"</p><p>Juozas sank onto a couch, his quick temper leaving him exhausted. "Eduard belongs to a different class. It is time for him to learn that, as well as you."</p><p>Tauras' brow knit. "What do you mean, different class?"</p><p>"His mother was one of your uncle's servants. A German girl. She was dismissed soon after Eduard was born. Your aunt Agnė wanted to send him to an orphanage, but Benas would not have it. Your mother and I stepped in, agreeing to...look after him until he was old enough to start helping the rest of the staff."</p><p>"But why does he have to become a servant, if he's uncle's son?"</p><p>"That's where he belongs. He was born out of wedlock to a servant girl. He will never rise above that. But if he applies himself, he may eventually become a valet — or even head butler — to a decent household."</p><p>"But that's not <em>fair</em>," Tauras persisted. "If he's uncle's son, why <em>can't</em> he still live with us as part of the family?"</p><p>"That's enough!" Juozas said, his ire rising again. "It's enough of a disgrace Benas has a bastard son, but to welcome him into the family would bring even more shame upon our heads! This scandal is not yet wholly forgotten in this county. Accepting Eduard as my nephew would only spread it anew. And think of your poor aunt and all the gossip she's had to endure — not to mention the heartache! She has yet to bear your uncle a child and seeing Eduard is a constant reminder of her failures."</p><p>Tauras hung his head, trying to understand. It still did not seem fair to him — or right that Eduard should be treated this way. It wasn't <em>his</em> fault. He wanted to say as much to his father, but he knew Juozas' mind was already made up.</p><p>"Now, do I have your word," Juozas began, standing, "that you will not repeat any of this? From now on, Eduard is a servant in this house and you will treat him as such."</p><p>Tauras remained silent.</p><p>"Your <em>word</em>?"</p><p>"Yes, father."</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>o</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>The weeks wore on in endless monotony for Tauras without the company of Eduard. In addition to losing his cousin — and best friend — he had been moved out of the nursery. His father thought it prudent as Tauras approached adolescence. The time had come to put away childish games and ideals and to start learning his place in the world. Besides, he was soon to become a big brother and a new baby would require all of Nanny's time and attention.</p><p>So Tauras said goodbye to the room where he had spent so many fond days and settled permanently into his bedroom, the large room feeling empty and lifeless without Eduard and Nanny there with him.</p><p>He flung himself on his bed, hating and blaming himself for what had happened to Eduard, for what was happening to <em>him</em>. If he had not shown Eduard the secret stairwell, if they had just stayed inside the nursery like father wanted, he would have his companion back and never would have known he and Eduard were related. But, a small part of him reasoned, his affection for Eduard only grew the moment he found out they were cousins. He would do anything to protect him, to keep him safe.</p><p>He wondered, though, if Eduard felt the same.</p><p>Did his cousin blame him for what happened?</p><p>He had to know.</p><p>Tauras got up and hurried downstairs. The midday meal had just ended and Eduard was most likely in the kitchen. A few servants stopped to address him, but he dashed past without a word. He needed to see Eduard.</p><p>But at the kitchen door, he hesitated. Peering around the doorframe, he saw Eduard clearing away the dishes from the servants' meal. The cook was in the pantry, going over inventory.</p><p>Eduard looked up, startled to see his cousin staring back at him. The plates he was holding rattled. He set them down, wiping his hands on his apron, and went over to Tauras.</p><p>"What are you doing here?"</p><p>"I...I wanted to see you," Tauras said.</p><p>Eduard pushed his glasses up his nose. His fingers were already smudged with what looked to be ash from cleaning the fireplace earlier that day.</p><p>It should have been dirt, Tauras thought. Dirt from the grounds from tumbling in the grass. Eduard should be upstairs, playing with him, instead of down here, working.</p><p>"I-I thought...you might be mad at me."</p><p>"What for?"</p><p>Tauras shrugged and looked down, prodding the flagstone floor with his shoe. "It was my idea, to hide there. If I hadn't — if <em>we</em> hadn't — th-then..." He could not bring himself to say it. But Eduard understood.</p><p>"I'm glad we did it," he said, a fierce look flashing in his blue eyes.</p><p>Tauras looked up. "You mean it?"</p><p>Eduard nodded.</p><p>"Then can we still be...be friends?"</p><p>"We're more than friends," Eduard grinned. "We're cousins."</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>o</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>Tauras sat, cross-legged, on the bed in Eduard's downstairs room. The bed was little more than a blue quilt covering a thin mattress on a wrought iron frame. Tauras discovered if he moved around too much, the whole thing let out a shrill creak, as if the very bolts were crying out against being jostled around so. He wondered how Eduard could sleep on something so noisy as he watched his cousin line up the family's shoes for polishing.</p><p>The room itself was narrow, with just enough space for the bed, a small dresser with a wash basin, and a spindly wooden chair. Candles, set in sconces on the wall, added their warm glow to the cool, grey light of early dawn filtering through the shear curtain covering the room's only window.</p><p>None of the other staff was awake yet, not even the cook — making it the perfect time to talk to Eduard. Tauras had taken to rising early every day just so he could spend time with him.</p><p>Eduard sat in the spindly chair, and picked up the first of a pair of Oxfords belonging to Tauras' father. He crossed one ankle over his opposite knee, balancing the shoe on one leg and the can of polish on the other and set to work.</p><p>"Come up to my room tonight," Tauras said.</p><p>Eduard kept his eyes down and his hands busy.</p><p>"I can't," he said at length.</p><p>"Why not? You know all the secret passages."</p><p>"Yeah. 'Cause I'm not supposed to be <em>seen</em> upstairs, remember?"</p><p>"So?"</p><p>"<em>So </em>I just <em>can't</em>, okay? I've got...things to do."</p><p>"That's never stopped you before."</p><p>Eduard ignored him, continuing with his duties.</p><p>"What if I ordered you," Tauras said snidely.</p><p>Eduard fixed his cousin with a hard look over the rims of his glasses. "Don't joke about that." Two years had passed and already he seemed so much older than his ten years.</p><p>Tauras looked down, shamefaced. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it." He watched his cousin a few more silent moments, then: "Can I help?"</p><p>Eduard picked his head up, this time cracking a smile. "What kind of a nobleman's son are you?"</p><p>They shared a laugh.</p><p>Tauras swung his legs down, inching closer to the edge of the bed. "I wish you would come tonight, Ed. I've got a new book I think you might like. We could read it together. It chronicles all the mythology and legends of our country — "</p><p>"<em>Our </em>country?"</p><p>Tauras rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't start — "</p><p>"<em>Your</em> country, you mean."</p><p>Tauras hunched forward, tucking his hands under his thighs. "Why do you say things like that?" he muttered.</p><p>"I say them 'cause they're true. Eduard's a German name. So is Bock. I'm only half Lithuanian. And that half doesn't want me, so..." Eduard finished his thought with a shrug, one meant to show his swagger, but Tauras was not convinced. "I'm surprised your father let you have something like that. Isn't he firmly against anything pagan?"</p><p>"He didn't know I bought it last time we went into town," Tauras said. "So, will you come?"</p><p>Eduard puffed out a laugh. "You really don't like being told 'no' do you?"</p><p>The ensuing silence, however, told him Tauras was no longer in a joking mood. Eduard sighed and set the shoe down, the look on his face now earnest.</p><p>"I <em>really </em>can't, Tauras. I'm sorry."</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>The question was sharp — a demand — one that made Eduard flinch. He knew, then, he could no longer avoid it.</p><p>Eduard pushed his glasses up his nose, listening for a moment for any sound, any indication they might be overheard, but the servants' quarters remained still in the early morning.</p><p>"All right" — he bent down, picking up another shoe — "I overheard two of the maids talking a few weeks ago. Apparently my <em>father</em>" — Eduard practically spat the word — "wants to send me to Germany. To some preparatory school."</p><p>Tauras' brow furrowed. "But that's good, isn't it? It means you no longer have to be a servant."</p><p>Eduard shrugged, keeping his eyes on his work. "His wife just wanted to send me off to live with my mother's family. It's a good compromise, I guess. Anyway, your father agreed. He...told me about it last week, and" — Eduard's voice caught in his throat — "and I leave tomorrow."</p><p>"What!" Tauras nearly propelled himself off the bed, the metal groaning sharply at the sudden movement. "And you're just telling me this now!?"</p><p>"I knew you wouldn't take it well — "</p><p>"Is that why you waited so long?"</p><p>Eduard's shoulders tensed, his head whipping up. "No, Tauras. I didn't tell you because...because we're not even supposed to <em>be</em> talking like this! You stay up there and I stay down here and that's just how it is — "</p><p>"But it doesn't <em>have </em>to be that way, Ed! We're family —"</p><p>"Keep your voice down!" Eduard hissed.</p><p>Tauras sprang up, fists clenched at his side. "I don't <em>care</em> who knows it!"</p><p>Eduard stared at his cousin, half amused and half exasperated. Sunlight was creeping across the grounds now; pinpricks of golden light peaked through the trees in the distant forest.</p><p>Eduard lowered his gaze. "You should go now," he said quietly. "The rest of the staff'll be up soon. We'll both be in trouble if we're caught — "</p><p>"I don't care," Tauras stubbornly repeated.</p><p>Eduard threw down his polishing rag. "For God's sake, Tauras! Think of someone besides yourself for once and go!"</p><p>Tauras stood there a few more numb moments, his hands opening and closing at his side, too stunned to speak. He left without a word, climbing the stairs two at a time. The house rushed by in blurred color, his feet mechanically carrying him through the great room, to the front hall and up the grand staircase to his own bedroom. He slammed and locked the door behind him, sliding down to sit against it, knees drawing up. He wrapped his arms around them, Eduard's words echoing in his head — a gut punch every time. He almost wished his cousin had actually hit him, for that pain would have been fleeting when compared to the truth and the hurt behind what Eduard had said.</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>o</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>The long, thin candle flame guttered in the draft of the dark stairwell. Tauras felt his way along the wall, descending carefully, cautiously in slippered feet down to the servants' quarters. It was well after eleven o'clock at night and he figured by now the staff had retired to their rooms.</p><p>The deserted hallway confirmed it.</p><p>Even the kitchen was dark as he quietly made his way past it. A dull light shone from under a few doors, but other than the low sound of someone singing, the servants' quarters were quiet.</p><p>Tauras tiptoed down to the end, where he knew Eduard's door stood, and knocked softly.</p><p>A muffled "Yes?" sounded from within.</p><p>"It's me," Tauras whispered. "Can I come in?"</p><p>A few moments passed and Tauras, thinking Eduard was still mad about that morning, started to back away to leave, when the door opened.</p><p>Even in the dim light, he could see the red rimming Eduard's eyes.</p><p>"Well?" Eduard's voice sounded raspy. He sniffed, rubbing the back of his hand against his nose.</p><p>"...Can I come in?" Tauras repeated, though now less sure than he had been.</p><p>Eduard stepped aside, letting his cousin enter.</p><p>Tauras set the candlestick on the dresser as his eyes flitted around the narrow room. Though he knew it to be sparsely furnished, it somehow seemed even more spartan since that morning.</p><p>The reason why soon became evident: On the bed sat a suitcase, its lid flipped open. The small items that had dotted the dresser had already been packed away. One of the drawers was pulled open. Eduard went over to it, taking out whatever scant clothing he had and packing it in the case.</p><p>"Ed..."</p><p>"I told you I had things to do." Eduard's tone would have been sharp were it not for the hoarseness of his voice. Again he wiped his nose with the back of his hand.</p><p>Tauras placed a hand on his cousin's arm. Eduard's shoulders slackened. He dropped the shirt he had been holding into the case, letting go of a stuttering breath.</p><p>"You know what the worst part is," he said, facing his cousin, his eyes brimming, "I was never <em>asked.</em> I was never asked what <em>I</em> w-wanted! It's just — j-just another stupid <em>order</em> for me to f-follow!" He crumpled then. Tauras caught him, letting Eduard lean against him as his cousin's chest hitched with sobs.</p><p>Tauras held him as he cried, cheek pressed against the straight blonde hair that was so unlike his own dark waves, letting Eduard come to stillness.</p><p>"Tauras," he said thickly.</p><p>"Yes?"</p><p>"I'm sorry for — for what I said this morning. I wasn't mad at you. I was mad at <em>them.</em> At...my father — and yours."</p><p>"I'm sorry too. And you were right: I hate hearing 'no' for an answer."</p><p>Tauras felt his cousin smile. Eduard pulled away, taking off his glasses and drying his eyes with the heel of his hand.</p><p>"I wanted to give you this," Tauras said, reaching into the pocket of his dressing robe and taking out a small book. "It's the one I told you about this morning."</p><p>"But...you haven't read it yet, have you?"</p><p>"I did. This afternoon. You might...I mean, maybe it'll help remind you of...of here — of this country — when y-you're away."</p><p>Eduard took the book, his face inscrutable.</p><p>"Will you write?" he asked suddenly. "Will you write to me?"</p><p>"Of course! Of course I will! Everyday if I can. Will you — do the same?"</p><p>A smile stretched across Eduard's face — one that was soon reflected on Tauras'.</p><p>"I will," Eduard said with a nod.</p><p>They embraced one final time. Neither said goodbye that night for they knew they were not parting. Not really. There would be letters and then maybe one day, when they were older, they would meet again.</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>o</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Tilsit, East Prussia, 1869</strong>
</p><p>Raivis chewed his bottom lip, brow wrinkled in concentration as he tried drawing the letters Tauras had written for him. He was just bringing his pencil around the swoop of the lowercase G, pleased at the smoothness of the curvature, when <em>snap!</em> The pencil lead broke and his perfect line became a jagged ridge.</p><p>"Ugh!" he groaned, slapping the pencil down in frustration.</p><p>"It's all right," Tauras said gently. Using a small knife, he resharpened the pencil and handed it back to Raivis. "Try not to use too much pressure."</p><p>"But this is so hard! And my fingers hurt. Why do I have to learn hand lettering? We've got cases <em>full</em> of letters."</p><p>"Yes, but those are block letters and are only good for things like newspapers and books. If a customer comes to you wanting something like invitations printed, they would expect to see something in a nicer script."</p><p>"So we would have to do this for <em>every </em>single one?"</p><p>Tauras chortled and smiled.</p><p>Raivis liked it whenever Mr. Laurinaitis smiled. It brightened his whole face, chasing away the brooding expression he usually wore.</p><p>Raivis grinned in return.</p><p>"No," Tauras said. "We would not hand letter every single one. We would draw the letters on a lithography stone, etch it, and then make the prints."</p><p>"How?"</p><p>"I'll show you once your lettering improves."</p><p>Raivis' shoulders dropped. "But I can't get the lines right."</p><p>"It doesn't need to be perfect straight away. Build <em>up</em> the line. Watch."</p><p>Tauras took the pencil and began sketching out a letter. The pencil lines were faint and wispy, like clouds. He traced over them again and again, each time the letter becoming sharper.</p><p>"When you've got the shape just the way you want it, then you can start darkening it. Like drawing a portrait, only with letters."</p><p>"I've never drawn anything," Raivis mumbled, then: "How do you know how to do this stuff?"</p><p>"Because when I first came here, I worked for a printer and he taught me just as I'm teaching you."</p><p>"But you make it look so easy."</p><p>"Well...I've had many more years of practice."</p><p>Tauras tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, remembering the Russian governess his father had hired to teach him to be an accomplished young man and how she would rap his knuckles whenever his drawings were out of proportion or he missed a note playing piano. His mild expression became unreadable. Raivis slouched in his seat, afraid he'd said something wrong.</p><p>Tauras cleared his throat. He tried to smile again, but his face just looked pinched.</p><p>Raivis had more to ask, but Tauras was already rising. "Keep practicing, and maybe I'll let you try an etching later."</p><p>Tauras went over to the door, opened it, and poked his head out into the crisp winter afternoon. Eyes scanned up and down the street, looking for a familiar head of blonde hair and glasses. Eduard was due back soon.</p><p>Something cold dropped onto his neck, trickling down beneath the back of his collar. Tauras looked up. Patches of snow clung to his shop sign as it gently swayed in the breeze coming up from the river. He went back inside, retrieving a broom, and began brushing the powder off, careful to not let any more fall on his head. He was surprised — not to mention pleased — to see the lettering underneath had not yet been covered anew in river muck. He wondered vaguely if Eduard had done something or said something to scare off those Prussian boys the last time it had been cleaned.</p><p>Tauras went back in, returning to his work — anything, really, to keep his mind from worrying about Eduard. He started typesetting blocks for the second run of the book for the professor. The shop hadn't been busy all week, but Tauras had wanted to save the second printing for when Eduard returned — as if doing so would somehow ensure his cousin's safety. But the work was only a short-lived distraction before he felt himself start to grow restless again.</p><p>He checked on Raivis' progress with the letters and found the boy had already greatly improved. Tauras decided to go ahead and show him how to etch a lithography stone. He set a piece of limestone on their work table, careful to avoid touching the smooth, flat surface so the oils from his hands would not get on it and ruin the etch. He let Raivis draw the letters on the stone with a grease pencil — the boy balking at first at having to write them backwards, until Tauras explained it was the same concept as placing the block letters in reverse order in the platens for a positive print. He then applied rosin and talc to prepare the stone for etching. Raivis watched as Tauras brushed on gum arabic and nitric acid next before buffing the stone with a cheesecloth.</p><p>They took a break, eating a late lunch while the stone dried, then continued the etch. Tauras took the stone over to a table top press and placed it on the sliding bed. He washed out the image with mineral spirits. Raivis gasped, seeing all his hard lettering work suddenly disappear, but Tauras sent him a knowing smirk before buffing a dark, viscous substance he called asphaltum onto the stone. The image reappeared, except it was fainter, like a ghost impression.</p><p>Tauras wet the stone with water, dried it, then wet it again, the process wholly absorbing him. He no longer seemed distracted with worry, Raivis thought.</p><p>Using a roller, Tauras transferred ink to the stone. The water repelled the ink except for the places where the asphaltum had been absorbed. He placed a sheet of paper over the stone, instructing Raivis how to set the pressure of the press, then cranked the handle, sending the bed through. Tauras checked the print. Only a very light grey image appeared. Tauras let Raivis take over as they repeated the process of inking and pressing a few more times, each print growing steadily darker as more ink was pushed into the etched stone.</p><p>"That's a lot of work!" Raivis said after finally producing a print that met Tauras' expectations. He pushed the sweat-dampened curls off his forehead and sank onto a stool.</p><p>Tauras said nothing, just hummed in response, and began cleaning up. Raivis noticed him eyeing the door as he worked. The light outside was already turning copper as the sun set.</p><p>They ate dinner in silence. Raivis, for once knowing when to hold his tongue, refrained from commenting on Eduard's noticeable absence. He went upstairs to the garret bedroom he shared with Tauras soon after, keeping watch at the window for Mr. Laurinaitis' cousin to return. Tauras would be downstairs at his desk with a cup of tea, doing the same, Raivis knew.</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>o</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>In the distance, the church bells were tolling six times when the door to the shop opened and in Eduard stepped, looking travel worn but smiling.</p><p>"Thank God," Tauras breathed. He rose as feet thudded from the stairs above. Raivis launched himself at Eduard, throwing his arms around his neck.</p><p>Eduard staggered back a little, catching himself with a laugh. With a pointed look from Tauras, Raivis let go, beaming at Eduard with a smile that said he was glad for his return. Then the boy picked up Eduard's now much lighter suitcase and took it up to his room.</p><p>Eduard shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the rack. "I'm sorry I was late. The carriage broke a wheel and I wanted to get a telegram to Leipzig the moment I returned, and — what?" he said at the look on his cousin's face.</p><p>"N-nothing!" Tauras sniffed. "I'm happy you're back." He smiled but Eduard could hear the strain in his voice.</p><p>"Come on. We need to celebrate." Eduard clapped Tauras on the shoulder, then pulled out a bottle of vodka from his coat pocket and handed it to his cousin.</p><p>"Hm. No <em>midus</em>, then?" Tauras asked as Raivis came back down the stairs.</p><p>Eduard shook his head. "Besides, I thought this would go over better than honey liqueur if I had been searched by any Russian authorities. Offer them a nip of their national drink and they'll take the bottle, leaving you alone."</p><p>Tauras went into the kitchen, followed by his cousin and Raivis. He poured himself and Eduard a drink. They toasted each other then sat and drank. Tauras poured out two more, eyeing Raivis and wishing the boy had stayed upstairs so he could talk to his cousin in private.</p><p>"How was it?" Tauras asked, switching from German to Lithuanian.</p><p>Raivis folded his arms and scowled. He hated when they did that. He only knew a few words, things he recognized from printing the books, but not enough to string a sentence together. He shot a glare at Tauras, knowing he was being dismissed, and went back up to his room.</p><p>"Not bad," Eduard said. "Except for the broken wheel. I telegrammed Leipzig, letting the professor know the first delivery was a success. How has the second run been coming?"</p><p>Tauras' face flushed. "I haven't really started."</p><p>Eduard took a measured sip of vodka. "He'll probably want that delivery made soon."</p><p>"Are you eager to get back?" Tauras teased, cocking an eyebrow.</p><p>"I'm eager to get paid."</p><p>Tauras sighed. "There are <em>risks</em>, Ed. You know we need to space out these trips. And if you keep hiring carriages, you'll use what money we <em>do</em> have."</p><p>Eduard glared petulantly at the table. He downed the rest of his vodka, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Then I'll switch up the disguise. I'll grow my beard and cross through the woods as a beggar." Eduard rubbed his chin, thinking. "I would need about a month for anything decent, although we could do it sooner if I dressed ragged enough..."</p><p>Tauras blinked, stunned — and hurt — by his cousin's sudden desire to leave again. If only he knew what it was like to be left behind with nothing to fill his never ending days but work and worry.</p><p>"You seem awfully insistent on returning, for someone who disowned his homeland," Tauras said, voice edged with spite.</p><p>"Christ, Tauras," Eduard groaned. "I was <em>ten</em> when I said that! And if I really hated it so much, do you think I'd be helping you do this? The sooner I go back, the sooner we can get paid again."</p><p>Tauras watched his cousin shrewdly. Eduard's focus had always been singular: money. Even before they started smuggling books. But there was something else to it this time. Eduard had always been sensible when it came to his trips across the border. Never before had he been this eager to go back. This was about more than just the money. And whatever it was, was blinding him.</p><p>"There's something you're not telling me."</p><p>Eduard slouched back in his seat, folding his arms in an uncanny resemblance of Raivis. "No there isn't — "</p><p>"Then why are you pushing this? We need to <em>plan. </em>We need to plan and spread out the trips. When was the last time you crossed on foot? It's been at least two years! The patrols will have changed — we need to observe — "</p><p>"That's your answer to everything!" Eduard cried, slapping his hand on the table. "Watch and wait!"</p><p>"You're being too impetuous. You need to stop and think a moment — "</p><p>"Sometimes you can't always do that. Sometimes you just have to act! You don't know what it's like — "</p><p>"You're right," Tauras said quietly. "I don't. But I...I just want you to be safe."</p><p>"Then you shouldn't have started this in the first place! Or you should have left <em>me</em> out of it!" Eduard stood suddenly, sending his chair clattering to the floor, and left the kitchen.</p><p>Tauras could hear him stomping up the stairs, the muffled sound of a door slam overhead. He chewed his lip, frowning. The last time he had seen Eduard this upset, they were boys. Something in his cousin had changed since his departure a week ago. Something had happened on this last trip, Tauras was sure, prompting his cousin's sudden reckless desire to return to Lithuania sooner than usual. Tauras just wished Eduard would tell him what that was.</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>o</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>The next day, Eduard received a telegram back from Leipzig, asking if the second round could be expedited — and promising to send payment if the answer was affirmative. He smiled grimly to himself, feeling the universe was somehow fully justifying his want to go on another smuggling run. He could only imagine what Tauras' reaction would be.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N Thank you all for the wonderful comments and fanart I've received for this story! You all are the best and I truly appreciate it :). Now onto history/language notes:</p><p>- Timeline: Tauras and Eduard are 5 at the beginning of this chapter, then 8 when they play that fateful game of hide-and-seek, and finally 10 when Eduard is sent off to school in Germany</p><p>- Hall boy: Eduard's position in the estate. Hall boys were essentially servants of the servants. They were the lowest ranked male servant in a household staff and performed some of the most disagreeable tasks such as emptying chamber pots, cleaning boots, or whatever else was asked of them. They typically worked 16 hour days, seven days a week.</p><p>- Midus: Lithuanian mead made from grain, honey, water and other spices.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <strong>Tauragė, Lithuania, 1863</strong>
</p><p>Tauras' world blinked in and out.</p><p>He was hardly aware of his feet moving or the guards holding him by the arms as he was brought out to a post in the middle of the customs house courtyard. The iron cuffs binding his wrists were strung to a rope, his arms pulled up as his shirt was cut open, exposing his back.</p><p>The lash came next. Whistling as it split the air. Tauras instinctively tensed moments before it cracked across his back. The pain was instant, a stinging current lancing up and down his spine. He wrapped his fingers around the rope, clinging to it for dear life as his body arched and twisted with each successive blow. He counted each one — the space between, drawn out and deliberate, just enough time for his skin to begin to feel the warm summer air, the light breeze in the courtyard, before the next stroke landed. Tauras gripped the rope, imagining it as a rosary, and prayed — actually <em>prayed</em> — it would be over soon.</p><p>Something inside him fractured that day. Something that could not easily be put back together. Later, whenever his mind would recall this ordeal, it was not the pain he remembered distinctly so much as the humiliation. The feeling that he was somehow less than human. That these soldiers were wielding a power over him he did not know men could possess. And he was helpless to stop it.</p><p>When it was finished, the soldiers untied him. He could hardly stand. They dragged him back toward the customs house, the captain barking orders Tauras could not comprehend for the fire of pain scorching across his back. Black dots swam at the edge of his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut to clear them. The air was hot. His skin was hot. He wanted desperately to crawl out of it, to shed it and crawl away, but the soldiers held him firmly.</p><p>The grey clouds that had been gathering while he had been in the captain's office, while he had been tied to the post, finally broke. It began to rain, the drops thick and heavy. A summer deluge. The men that had been milling around the courtyard shouted and ran for cover. The two supporting Tauras yanked his arms trying to get him inside faster. But his feet slackened, heels digging into the muddy yard. He threw his head back, feeling the rain splash his face, the cool droplets a welcome relief to the heat now coursing through his body.</p><p>One of the soldiers kicked his shins to get him to move. Tauras stumbled forward as the two men managed to pull him through the door.</p><p>He was taken to the top floor, cuffs removed, and dropped in a room that was empty save for a table, chair, and cot. An improvised cell. With what strength remained, Tauras pulled himself over and onto the bed moments before blacking out.</p><p>
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</p><p>When he came to, he was stayed by a gruff Russian voice ordering him not to move. Immediately Tauras thought of the captain, but soon recalled Braginski's voice had been oddly light for a man of his size.</p><p>Tauras turned his head and saw a much older man sitting beside his cot. His black hair was streaked with grey and his thick mustache and eyebrows lent a serious expression to his face, though his blue eyes were not unkind. The man was holding a stained rag. He dipped it into a bowl of rust-colored water by his feet and gently applied it to Tauras' back.</p><p>Tauras bit back a scream, sucking air through his teeth as his hands gripped the sheets. It was an iodine and water solution, and it stung like hell.</p><p>"Sorry," the man said. "I should have warned you. But I'm almost done cleaning your wounds."</p><p>Tauras took deep breaths, fighting the urge to be sick. He focused on the man again — anything to distract him from the godawful sting on his back.</p><p>"You are not a soldier?" he asked, noting the man's civilian clothes.</p><p>The man's mouth twitched. He might have smiled, though the bushy mustache made it difficult to tell.</p><p>"No. I'm a doctor. The captain sent for me to patch you up."</p><p>"W-why?" Tauras winced as the rag was again lightly pressed to his lacerated skin.</p><p>The doctor shrugged. "A small mercy, I expect. It is a long journey to Kara." He set the rag in the bowl and stood, going over to the table. On it was a leather case. The doctor took out some gauze, then helped Tauras sit up so he could begin wrapping the young man's back.</p><p>Tauras let what was left of his shirt fall from his arms, noticing vaguely it was nothing but rags streaked with a deep reddish-brown. He stared blankly ahead, the pain receding a moment, replaced by that reminder of the second half of his sentence. <em>Kara</em>. He almost wished the Old Testament had been right — though he had not received the supposed final, fatal lash. The captain had been prudent, not wanting to waste effort on extra lashings, ensuring his captive would survive — at least until the rest of his punishment could be meted out.</p><p>And what of his family? Would they ever know? Moreover, would he want them to? His father had written him off for good the day he found out about Tauras and Feliks. His mother had still sent him letters and small packages when he had been away at the seminary. But now...Would she continue to stand by her son, or take the side of her husband and his politics?</p><p>Tauras all but wished the lash <em>had</em> been enough to kill him. The thought of losing what little family he had left hurt too much — almost as much as losing Feliks.</p><p>The doctor finished his ministrations. The dressing, while not tight, gave just enough pressure to be uncomfortable. The renewed ache drew Tauras' attention back to the cot and his makeshift cell.</p><p>"I'll be back to check on you tomorrow," the doctor said, packing his leather case. He then picked up the dirty bowl and rag and knocked on the door. When it opened, Tauras saw the two soldiers who had brought him up there standing just outside. The doctor looked back at him a moment, something flickering in his blue eyes, and then he was gone.</p><p>
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</p><p>The sky beyond Tauras' window was already turning a deep blue when the doctor arrived the following evening.</p><p>"The captain says you haven't been eating today," he said, frowning at the plate sitting on the table in the small room. It had not been touched since the guard brought it that morning.</p><p>Tauras sniffed and turned his head to face the wall.</p><p>"Starving yourself only weakens the body. It will not help your back heal."</p><p>"Maybe I just don't have a taste for <em>Russian</em> food."</p><p>"You are strong-willed. But that alone won't be enough to last in a place like Kara. Your body needs strength, too."</p><p>"And what if I'd rather die?"</p><p>The doctor sighed, setting down his case and taking a seat beside the cot. "No man truly believes such things. Survival is instinct. It is in our nature."</p><p>Tauras turned back around, eyeing the man. "What would you know of it?"</p><p>"As a doctor, plenty. I've heard men on their deathbeds promise God anything if He would only spare them another year, another month, another breath of life. As a prisoner" — the doctor's voice lowered as he held up his right hand for Tauras to see. Half of his index finger was missing. "— I also heard these things whimpered softly at night by the roughest of men."</p><p>Tauras' eyes widened. "You were at Kara?"</p><p>The doctor shook his head, his eyes sad and haunted. "Nerchinsk. For suspected revolutionary activities. I was eighteen."</p><p>The two men watched each other for some moments. Tauras, caught up in the thrill of revolution, the idea that his country could finally be free from its Russian oppressors, had forgotten what those oppressors did even to their own countrymen.</p><p>"Now, will you eat?" the doctor asked.</p><p>Tauras carefully raised himself up. His back still hurt, but the pain had dulled to an all-over numb sting. He winced, taking shallow breaths, as he tried to find a comfortable position to sit. The doctor handed him the plate, and only once food was in front of him did Tauras realize how hungry he had been.</p><p>When he was done eating, the doctor redressed Tauras' wounds, cleaning his back with only water this time. He sat back in the chair after he had finished, studying the young man. It seemed he had something he wanted to say, but like the previous night, he simply stood, retrieved his case, and left.</p><p>
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</p><p>In the intervening days before his departure for Kara, Tauras passed the time staring out the window, watching the street below. He learned during the doctor's last visit the only reason he was given a room in the customs house, instead of the border prison in the courtyard, was due to the fact the prison was at capacity, having been filled with other captured Lithuanian revolutionaries and contraband smugglers all destined for Kara. He supposed he should count himself lucky he had been afforded the small luxury of having his own room, but being with other people and commiserating over a shared fate seemed a far better trade than being locked in a room with nothing but his own thoughts for companions.</p><p>He contemplated escape more than a few times, seizing on the idea like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood. The thought — the possibility he could still somehow make it across the border — was a ray of light piercing through the dark places in his mind.</p><p>Yet its luminescence was only temporary as reality crashed around him again. The way he saw it, there were only two means of escape: through the door or through the window. But he knew he could not overpower the guards outside his door. Not in his current state. And even if by some miracle he managed to get by them, he would then be at the mercy of an entire garrison. There was simply no way he could manage to slip by all those soldiers undetected. That left the window. Fortunately for him, he was in a room facing the main street instead of the courtyard and its four meter high wall. Unfortunately, however, he was on the top floor with no way down except for a drainpipe within an arm's reach of the ledge. But even the slightest movements ended in pain searing across his back. Would he be able to reach the drainpipe and shimmy down without passing out from the exertion? Tauras had no answer, though the question dogged him more as his days dwindled ever closer.</p><p>The doctor visited one last time two days before the departure. Tauras noticed his case seemed to be bulging a bit more than usual.</p><p>"I brought something for you," the doctor said, unfastening the leather strap. He took out a cotton shirt. It was a tan-striped, half-placket pullover with four buttons ending in a banded collar. "One of my son's old work shirts. He's not as thin as you, so it should fit nice and loose on your back."</p><p>Tauras thanked him and took the shirt. The doctor then removed the old bandaging and redressed his wounds. He helped Tauras with the shirt, studying the young man with the same intensity as before. He placed a hand on Tauras' shoulder and drew him near.</p><p>"There is a wagon carrying rye bound for East Prussia that's been cleared to leave tomorrow morning. I know the wagon driver. His name is Semyon. A good man, even if a bit of a drunk. He likes to set out early, though — before the sun rises. His wagon is parked by the inn near the bridge; the grain is under a linen tarpaulin. Do you understand?"</p><p>Tauras' eyes widened. "Yes," he breathed. "But...how am I supposed to get out of here to meet it?"</p><p>The doctor's eyes flicked to the window behind him. He then reached into his case, took out a glass flask filled with vodka, and handed it to Tauras. "For the pain."</p><p>Tauras took it, understanding the doctor's meaning. There really was only one way out: through the window and down the drainpipe.</p><p>His heart pounded in his chest, his body numb with the rush of adrenaline. He was certain at that moment he could have withstood a hundred lashings and not felt a thing.</p><p>Tauras uncapped the flask and took a swig to calm his nerves.</p><p>"Whatever belongings you had with you," the doctor continued in his low, gruff voice, "consider them lost. The soldiers will most likely have traded it for whatever they can get their hands on."</p><p>"I still have money," Tauras said, hands reflexively going to his pockets.</p><p>"Good. Also, that cross on your neck — you might want to think about selling it."</p><p>Tauras' hand went to his shirt's collar, feeling the small necklace resting just underneath. "I can't do that."</p><p>"Then hide it."</p><p>Tauras unfastened the topmost button, unclasped the golden chain, and slipped the necklace into his boot. The doctor refastened the clasp on his case and rose to leave.</p><p>"Why are you doing this?" Tauras said. "Why are you helping me?"</p><p>The doctor's eyes were sad as he answered: "We're not all monsters, despite what you may think. And...knowing what fate awaits you in Kara, I could not live with myself if I had a chance to save one soul from that hell and did not take it."</p><p>Tauras stood and held out his hand.</p><p>The doctor took it. "Best of luck to you."</p><p>"And you."</p><p>The doctor left.</p><p>Tauras sat on his cot, leaning his shoulders gingerly against the wall. He needed to rest as much as he could before attempting this escape, but his veins continued to buzz with excitement. This was it — he had a way out!</p><p>He closed his eyes, pushing the thought from his mind. He was not free yet and had seen too many mistakes made by men in his old squadron from overexcited nerves.</p><p>Tauras let his mind wander until it eventually settled on the ancient myths Nanny used to tell when he and Eduard were boys. His father dismissed it as pagan nonsense, forbidding Nanny from uttering those heathen tales. But Tauras always begged to hear them before bed, fascinated by the magic and the pantheon of gods and goddesses. It became a secret between them — he and Eduard and Nanny.</p><p>He remembered the story of the seasons — how Saulė the sun goddess had been stolen by the selfish god of the dead, Velnias. He locked her in a tower, wanting her light and warmth for himself. Saulė was rescued by her daughters, the planets, and by Perkūnas, god of thunder, and his hammer. But so weakened had she become during this ordeal that the blacksmith god forged her anew as a brilliant disk and set her in the sky. But each year after that, the darkness of winter came as Saulė was reforged and given the strength to continue her work...</p><p>Tauras' head drooped forward, his neck muscles catching, jerking his head back up as he snapped awake. He blinked, taking in the darkened room and regaining his bearings. For a moment, he thought he was Saulė. He had been her in his dream, and his current imprisonment in the top floor of the customs house had lent a certain similarity to the sun's predicament in the story. But no god of thunder was coming to save him. He must also be Perkūnas and set himself free.</p><p>Tauras edged himself to the end of his cot and stood, carefully stretching his arms and legs. He looked out the window, at the stars above. Their light was nearly faded as the grey of dawn reached up from the horizon. Below him, the deserted street stretched on.</p><p>This was the time.</p><p>He slipped his boots off, then his socks, tucking them in with his stash of money and cross necklace. He flexed his toes, remembering how he used to climb trees barefoot as a boy. He hoped his feet still had that grip — he would need them to steady his descent down the drainpipe.</p><p>Tauras tied his boot laces together and hung them over his neck. He picked up the flask the doctor had given him and swallowed down a measure of vodka. He pocketed the bottle, went over to the window and eased it open, his upper back momentarily flooding with pain. Tauras pressed his forehead to the glass, drawing deep, steadying breaths until it subsided. He took another quick sip of vodka then stepped up and out onto the ledge. He angled himself so his torso and face were pressed against the brick, one arm still wrapped around the window frame. He leaned to his right, fingertips inching closer to the metal pipe. The arm still holding the window began to burn, his muscles protesting at the strain, but he was <em>so close</em>. Just a little further and...</p><p>Pain tore through his shoulder blades.</p><p>Tauras bit the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out.</p><p>In desperation — wanting the pain to just <em>end</em> — he flung himself forward.</p><p>His hand wrapped around the pipe as his foot kicked out, toes hooking around and finding their own purchase. Using the strength of his lower limbs, he pulled the rest of him off the ledge, holding the narrow pipe firmly between his legs and hands.</p><p>The gashes on his back flared to life. The pipe blurred as his head began to spin. Black dots swam at the edge of his vision. Tauras squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to hold on. He drew a few shaking breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth, his head no longer feeling as light. He opened his eyes again, focusing on the pipe, and began to lower himself, the pain roiling in waves up and down his back.</p><p>With just three meters to go, Tauras could take no more.</p><p>He let go of the pipe, dropping to the ground beneath, landing inelegantly on his hands and feet a moment before pitching to the side. His stomach lurched, threatening to spill last night's dinner, but Tauras held back his nausea. He unslung the boots from his neck and pulled them on along with his socks. He then stood, orienting himself, soon finding the bridge, and began making his way toward it on unsteady feet.</p><p>The inn stood charcoal black against the gradually lightening sky. Tauras feebly wondered if he'd been too late. It would not be the first time his body's need for sleep had cost him a chance at escape...</p><p>But soon he saw the wagon, just as the doctor had said. He lifted the tarpaulin. Underneath were dozens of bushels of rye.</p><p>Tauras scrambled up and into the wagon, burrowing down under the golden yellow sheaves. He slipped the flask from his pocket and took one final drink to dull the pain coursing across his back.</p><p>Now that his body had stopped moving, his mind took over, giving a greater voice to a thought that had played at the back of his mind ever since last night, ever since the doctor had told him about the wagon: this was nothing more than some elaborate ruse. A set up by the doctor and this Semyon fellow hoping to profit off the capture of an escaped fugitive. But thinking back to his interactions with the doctor, his intentions seemed genuine. There was an earnestness in his eyes as he told Tauras about the wagon, as he had shown the young man his mutilated hand. Or maybe Tauras was just so desperate to believe in the man's good nature. After all, Ivan had seemed that way too. At first.</p><p>Fear bubbled up inside him as he waited in the still of early dawn. Fear that he was making an even bigger mistake.</p><p>It was only seven kilometers to the border. A two hour walk. If he left now, while it was still somewhat dark and quiet, he could find a place to hide until nightfall and just cross then. There were plenty of woods along the way...</p><p>But as Tauras was turning this idea over in his head, he became aware of the sound of approaching feet. He held his breath, listening hard. He heard a man's voice muttering a slurred song in Russian, followed by the clop of horse's hooves.</p><p>The singing stopped, replaced by the sound of metal clinking.</p><p>Tauras' first thought was of the iron cuffs the soldiers had put around his wrists. He tensed, ready to bolt, when he felt the wagon dip and resettle, its wooden seat creaking.</p><p>"Ready, Pasha?" the man said. He snapped the reins and the wagon lurched forward.</p><p>Tauras' heart leapt into his throat. This was it! He snuck a glance from under the tarpaulin just to be sure. And yes, the inn was behind them now as they crossed the bridge. They were not turning around. They were leaving!</p><p>Tauras watched the town recede from view. They were soon out in open country. He rested his head against the grain, feeling the wagon's gentle sway as it trundled along the road. Over the soft crunching of the wheels, he could hear the driver humming a folk tune, and beyond that the sighing of the trees in a summer wind. Had it really only been ten days since the ambush? A week since his capture? It felt like a month had passed. And he had been running the entire time. His whole body ached, begging for rest. But Tauras forced himself to remain alert, remembering what had happened the last time he let his guard down even for a minute. As soon as he was over the border, he would slip out of his hiding spot and head for the nearest tree cover. Then find something to eat and a place...to bed down...for — the — night...</p><p>The sound of Russian voices startled him awake.</p><p>Tauras' eyes shot open, searching for any shadow, any sign he was about to be discovered. But all that stretched above him was a hazy blue sky filtering through the linen canopy. His body was too numb to move except for his heart, which seemed to be beating a thousand times louder and faster. He was sure the Russians would hear it...</p><p>"What have you got there, Semyon Aleksandrovich?" one of the voices said, addressing the driver.</p><p>"Just some bushels of rye for our neighbors. You know those Prussians can't grow anything in that swamp they call home."</p><p>There was a solid round of laughter following this statement.</p><p>"But you boys look thirsty," Semyon said.</p><p>Tauras then heard a rustling sound, as if someone was rummaging through a sack.</p><p>"The weather here is never forgiving," Semyon continued. "Especially on a dusty border road."</p><p>There were murmurs of assent all around, soon followed by the uncapping of a bottle. But Tauras' ears perked up the moment Semyon mentioned "border". He had a feeling that was directed at him — but how could Semyon know of the stow away hidden in his wagon? Tauras held his breath, listening hard and willing his heart to stop thudding so loudly.</p><p>The bottle clinked as it passed hands. Tauras could only imagine it was most likely vodka — a useful bribe for tired border guards with nothing else to pass the time. And even though Semyon's wagon had been cleared for passage, Tauras had yet to hear any of the guards ask him for his papers.</p><p>A few more pleasantries were exchanged before the wagon lurched forward. Tauras let go of a long-held breath and sank back against the rye, his limbs heavy. The rush of energy he had felt as his instincts had taken over now drained out of him. A dull ache pounded in his head, replacing the thudding of his heart only moments before. How could he have been so foolish to have fallen asleep again? As if in answer, pain flared across his back. Tauras reached for the flask the doctor had given him, surprised to see it nearly empty. He cursed to himself as the pounding in his head grew. The drink the doctor had given him had been strong.</p><p>Tauras estimated a half hour to have passed from their border crossing and lifted an edge of the tarpaulin to see what was around. It was at that moment the wagon slowed to a stop again.</p><p>Tauras froze, muscles coiled as his instincts ratcheted up, ready to jump out and run.</p><p>"You can come out now," a voice said. The driver's. "We're far enough away from the border."</p><p>The wagon creaked and shook as the driver — Semyon — stepped down from his seat. He went around back and lifted the tarpaulin, grinning down at a pair of dark green eyes and a disheveled head of hair poking through the sheaves of rye.</p><p>Tauras moved a bundle and sat up. "Where are we?"</p><p>Semyon sniffed and spat into the dirt. "Laugszargen. A village in East Prussia. Just over the border."</p><p>Tauras stood, climbing out of the wagon with a wince. He looked around. There wasn't much — a church, a few houses doubling as stores, and an inn.</p><p>"I'm going all the way to Tilsit, if you want to keep riding. It's bigger. More of" — Semyon's eyes raked over him — "<em>your</em> kind there."</p><p>Tauras swallowed, eyes narrowing a fraction. When he first saw the driver, he was not sure what to make of him. Now he knew he did not like him, despite what the doctor had said. The grin had not left Semyon's face, but it did not meet his eyes, which were clever and calculating.</p><p>"People here are more likely to turn someone like you over to the border guards, and receive a nice bit of coin to line their pockets," he continued, and Tauras couldn't help but notice the way the man's eyebrow quirked up at the word "coin."</p><p>"Yes. Forgive me," Tauras said, reaching into his pocket and taking out a few rubles. He handed the money to Semyon.</p><p>The driver took it and began to count, his deliberation more than irksome. His eyes slid up when he was done, studying the Lithuanian, the ever-present grin unnerving. Tauras sighed and handed over a few more bills.</p><p>"That's all I have," he lied, thinking of the stash hidden in his boots.</p><p>Semyon shrugged. "It'll do. You look like hell, by the way. You want to grab something to eat? It's another four hours 'til Tilsit. My treat," he added, waving the money Tauras had just given him.</p><p>"Let's just keep moving."</p><p>"Suit yourself. Here." Semyon took an apple out of his pocket and tossed it to Tauras. "I usually save those for Pasha." He patted the horse, then climbed back in the driver's seat.</p><p>"Thanks," Tauras ground out, settling next to him.</p><p>Semyon reached into a bag at his feet, taking out a yeast roll and some cheese and stuffing them greedily into his mouth. He picked up the reins, giving them a light crack.</p><p>Tauras took a bite of his mealy apple. This was going to be a long trip.</p><p>
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  <strong>Tilsit, East Prussia, 1869</strong>
</p><p>It was after midnight by the time Tauras collapsed into bed. He had been working well into the night nonstop for almost two weeks. Business had picked up as February drew ever nearer. The Lenten season would be starting soon and for reasons Tauras could not quite figure, he found himself flooded with requests from the local churches for printing prayer cards. Usually those went to the German print shops closer to the center of town. Tauras wondered if the clergy had somehow found out he had once been on the path to joining their ranks and were perhaps feeling sympathetic. Or maybe it was something else. His sign, he had noticed, still looked pristine, the golden letters glinting in the winter sun's pale light. Maybe the sergeant-major had been right: having a clean sign seemed to have improved his business prospects.</p><p>Whatever it was that caused the sudden uptick, though, was also causing the <em>other</em> half of Tauras' business to falter. The printing of all Lithuanian publications to be smuggled across the border had to be put on hold until after his shop closed for the day. At least then he could lock the door and continue working in peace without the sudden interruption of a customer dropping by. But Tauras — and Raivis — were so tired at the end of the day, it was all they could do to haul themselves to their feet after dinner and start work all over again. Eduard helped as much as he could, though most of the time he stayed in his room, altering his shirts and pants, adding extra padding and pockets to keep the books concealed. In his darker moments, Tauras would catch himself glaring after his cousin's retreating back as Eduard disappeared up the stairs, feeling he ought to be doing more to help with the printing.</p><p>One month. That was their agreed upon deadline after two days of arguing. One month. Three weeks for Tauras to print the books and one week for Eduard to cross the border on foot. It was still too tight for Tauras' liking, but his cousin — for reasons known only to him — absolutely refused to push it back any further.</p><p>Tauras curled onto his side, staring at a patch of silvery moonlight spilling across the attic room floor. In the far corner, he could already hear Raivis' light snores. He envied how fast the boy could fall asleep. Though his own body was tired, his mind could not seem to shut off. The timeline was dwindling, but at least the second run was nearly done. And then Eduard would be on his way.</p><p>Tauras thought back to the one — and only — time he had crossed to border, hidden in a wagon under bushels of rye. He shifted his shoulders, his cotton nightshirt ghosting over the scars on his back and tried not to think about the same thing happening to Eduard — or worse. He hoped Ivan had kept his word. That no harm had befallen his family. Though that agreement had been made in exchange for the admission of his guilt. His escape most likely rendered it forfeit. But his father had always been loyal to the tsar — and maybe that loyalty would have saved them. Tauras had no way of knowing, not wanting to risk sending a letter in the event it somehow led to his capture. And would his father even spend the effort to read it? No. It would be tossed in the fireplace without a second glance.</p><p>Still.</p><p>Tauras couldn't help wonder if they ever knew what happened to him. If the captain ever told them.</p><p>He had thought about asking Eduard to enquire after his family more than a few times — the Laurinaitis name being so well known in Tauragė. He never did, though, knowing of his cousin's own misgivings regarding <em>that</em> branch of the family tree.</p><p>Tauras' eyes eventually slipped shut, his dreams rushing by in blurs of sunlight and green leaves. He was a boy, chasing his cousin through the forest that edged his family's estate. But every time he got within an arm's length of reaching Eduard, his cousin suddenly shot forward a greater distance ahead. Tauras ran to catch back up, but a voice was calling his name. He stopped, turning towards the sound, following it out of the woods. He was no longer a boy but a young man, dressed in ragged clothes, a rifle slung over his back. His face was slick with sweat and grime; his long hair clung to his neck, his brow. He approached the estate. None of the other men from his squadron were there. It was only him now. But the closer he came, the more he realized something was wrong. The gardens were overgrown. There were cracks in the terrace steps. Weeds poked up along the pebbled path. The terrace door was open and he could hear the sound of a piano, but the windows on either side had been broken out. The curtains hung, sun-bleached and torn. How long had he been away? Tauras let the rifle clatter to the ground as he climbed the terrace stairs and entered the open door. Inside the house was dark and cold, the light outside suddenly dimming from afternoon to evening. The piano had stopped the moment he went inside. Tauras went over to it, his finger striking a key, but there was no sound. The keyboard had turned to wood. A desk. He was in his father's study. He looked up, expecting to see Juozas, his father, seated on the other side. Instead his gaze fell on eyes like a frozen lake. <em>Ah, Mr. Laurinaitis. We meet again.</em></p><p>Tauras jerked awake, sitting up with a gasp, and nearly knocking into Raivis who was standing over him.</p><p>Raivis stumbled back, catching himself on a nightstand.</p><p>Tauras' eyes were wild and wide as he took in the garret room, his heart thudding furiously against his throat. It had been a dream. Just a dream. Though the image of captain Braginski sitting in his family's ruined estate was a hard one to forget. Tauras squeezed his eyes shut a moment. When he next blinked them open, he saw Raivis huddled against a wall, watching him with a wary expression.</p><p>"I tried to wake you," the boy said. "I thought you were having a fit."</p><p>"It was a bad dream. That's all."</p><p>"But you were tossing about. And talking."</p><p>"Oh?" Tauras said distractedly. Fragments of the dream continued to linger like cobwebs. He could not shake the feeling something was wrong. "And what did I say?"</p><p>"I...don't know. I didn't recognize the words. Except you said Eduard's name once or twice."</p><p>"Hm. Probably cursing it, I suppose," Tauras muttered darkly. He rubbed a hand over his face. His muscles, tensed and ready for action, now unwound, leaving him more exhausted than he'd been. He wanted nothing more than to curl back up and go to sleep, but Raivis was still looking unsettled.</p><p>Tauras tried to smile, to put him at ease. "I apologize. I didn't mean to wake you."</p><p>"It's all right. I was up anyway."</p><p>It was then Tauras realized Raivis was already dressed for the day, that the light streaming through the window was not the early dawn grey. The sky outside was a crisp blue.</p><p>He had overslept.</p><p>Tauras ran his hands through his hair and sighed. He rose, shuffling over to his dresser, and took out some clothes. He then hung his quilt on a line that stretched the width of their shared room, creating a makeshift curtain for privacy so he could change.</p><p>Once dressed, Tauras tied his hair back with a strip of leather cord and checked his reflection in the small mirror that stood on his dresser. His eyes, usually a warm moss green, had darkened, their luster fading. Deep lines were gouged underneath, telling of the nights he had not slept. His lips were pale and cracked.</p><p>Ever since he fled his country, the face looking back at him did not seem like his. It belonged to a stranger — one Tauras did not know if he was becoming or had already become. Though he might have still felt like himself, the years were weighing heavily.</p><p>Tauras set the mirror facedown, a guttural sound escaping his throat. He tore the quilt down from its hanging and flung it onto his bed.</p><p>Raivis had already gone downstairs. Tauras pulled on his boots and followed suit.</p><p>The boy was at the small press in the back, cranking out more prayer cards, when Tauras came down.</p><p>"Have you eaten?" he asked.</p><p>Raivis nodded. "Eduard made breakfast. There still might be some left over."</p><p>Tauras pushed open the kitchen door with unintended force, his mood and exhaustion barely making him aware of his own actions.</p><p>Eduard jumped, sending half a mug of tea spilling down the front of him. "Dammit, Tauras!"</p><p>He was seated at the table, the remains of his breakfast still on his plate. Tauras did not even bother hiding his amusement as Eduard patted his shirt — and scraggly new beard — dry. A few tea leaves still clung to the whiskers above his lip. Using the blade of a knife, Eduard checked his reflection and plucked out the dark specks. He then scratched his cheeks, making the bristly hair stick out even more.</p><p>"I forgot how itchy these damn things are," he grumbled.</p><p>"The beard was <em>your</em> idea," Tauras said, helping himself to meat and eggs. He would never admit it aloud, not wishing to feed his cousin's ego any more than it deserved, but Eduard was a far better cook than himself. No doubt a product of their disparate upbringing.</p><p>Tauras settled himself across from his cousin, the silence between them growing thick — as it so often had since the day Eduard came home, already spinning plans to leave again. Tauras still thought he was being too reckless, going on another smuggling run so soon after his most recent trip. But he could not deny Eduard was good at what he did. Charismatic, evasive, clever. Traits his cousin had developed and honed during his time in Germany — first swindling the boys at the boarding school his father had sent him to, then expanding to the citizens of Leipzig, Dresden, Chemnitz, wherever his charms had not worn out their welcome.</p><p>Eduard rubbed his cheek again. Tauras kept his eyes fixed on his plate. He could <em>feel</em> the question his cousin wanted to ask. And sure enough:</p><p>"When do you think?"</p><p>Slowly — deliberately — Tauras set his fork and knife down. A small, spiteful part of him wanted to play dumb, to pretend he had no idea what Eduard meant by his vague inquiry. But doing so would only incense his cousin and possibly further stoke whatever desire led to this impetuous decision to return sooner — and by a means Eduard had not traversed in over two years.</p><p>Tauras reached for the pitcher of water on the table, pouring a measured amount into his cup. "We should be able to finish tonight."</p><p>Eduard clapped his hands. "Excellent!" He rose and began clearing his side of the table.</p><p>"You're still not going to tell me what this is all about?"</p><p>Eduard's posture stiffened momentarily. "It's not <em>about</em> anything." He set his plate down so hard Tauras was surprised it did not crack. "We were paid to do a job, and that's <em>exactly</em> what I'm doing!"</p><p>He stormed from the room, leaving Tauras to clean up.</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>o</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>It was nearing half-past eleven that night when Tauras and Raivis finished trimming and binding the next five books Eduard would take on his upcoming run. Tauras' hands ached. Dark circles marred the underside of Raivis' eyes. He sent the boy to bed while he gathered up the books and took them to the second floor and set them on a table beside the sofa. Tauras considered just leaving them for Eduard to find in the morning, then thought better of it and knocked softly on his cousin's door.</p><p>It opened soundlessly, wordlessly, and there stood Eduard, his room lit with the warm amber glow of an oil lamp beside his bed.</p><p>"The books are done, if..." Tauras trailed off, gesturing at the table behind him.</p><p>Eduard nodded. "Thank you."</p><p>"...Are you — " Tauras paused, clearing his throat. "Will you be leaving tomorrow?"</p><p>"Yes. In the evening."</p><p>Tauras swallowed and tried to smile. "Well. Safe journey." He started to go, but was stayed by his cousin suddenly calling his name.</p><p>"I know this is important to you," Eduard said. "I know you're worried. And...I know why." His gaze drifted over to settle on Tauras' shoulders. They shifted, ever so slightly, under his shirt. Most people would not have noticed. But Eduard was not most people. He had learned to find and to read the nuances of body language. Everyone had a tell — something they did when they were uncomfortable or trying to hide a deceit. And Tauras' tell was always his shoulders and the subtle way they would unconsciously move, as if adjusting the fit of his shirt. But Eduard knew better. He knew of the marks cutting across his cousin's back — and why Tauras bore them.</p><p>"Please believe me when I say this is important to me, too," Eduard continued quietly. "It's just...for different reasons. Reasons I can't...I don't know how to explain. And maybe after I'm done with this run, maybe then I'll be able to. Just...<em>please</em> don't ask me anything more."</p><p>Tauras felt himself nod, seeing the stricken look on his cousin's face.</p><p>Eduard placed a hand on Tauras' shoulder, giving it a light squeeze a moment before pulling his cousin into an embrace.</p><p>Tauras tensed, as he always did, but Eduard would not let him shrink away.</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>o</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>The Tuesday following Eduard's departure was the last day before the start of the Lenten season. The Germans called it <em>Fasching. </em>The Lithuanians called it <em>Užgavėnės. </em>But to them both it was a day of celebration, of dressing up as devils and fools and parading through the streets, and the last day to partake of any final pleasures before the forty day abstention began.</p><p>At least for the more devout, anyway. Tauras' father had been a zealous adherent, forgoing any wine or meat and only permitting one meal on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday — which just added to his irascibility. Everyone in the house — staff and family alike — were always thankful when Lent ended.</p><p>For Tauras, that Tuesday was nothing more than a well-deserved day off. He had stopped obeying church strictures the day he left the seminary. And he had never seen an Užgavėnės festival. His father had forbid it, condemning the practice of burning an effigy representing winter as pagan foolishness. A few of the servants still snuck down to the village to watch and Tauras would press them for details the next day, fascinated by the stories of a culture his father never showed any love for.</p><p>He smiled down at Raivis as he shut and locked the print shop door, ensuring the small sign on the front read "Closed" before setting off up to the high street and the market square.</p><p>Clouds hung in the overcast sky, thick and grey, forming soft mounds that reminded Tauras of rolling, snow-covered fields. The cold, biting air nipped at his cheeks and neck. Tauras turned his coat collar up and adjusted his scarf. Raivis did the same, hunching his thin shoulders against the chill as he shoved his hands in his pockets.</p><p>Vendors had set up stalls in the square, selling a variety of food and drink. There were already lines forming in front of ones selling bratwurst and hot, jam-filled donuts. But Tauras' eyes were on a small stand strung with red banners of a knight on horseback. <em>Vytis</em>. He made his way over with Raivis trailing behind, hungrily eyeing the donut stand.</p><p>Tauras greeted the vendor, slipping easily back into his native tongue. Raivis watched, brow furrowing at the words he did not understand, the carefree way Tauras smiled and laughed at something the vendor said. There was an almost — <em>almost — </em>familiar cadence to it as memories of his mother — and the language she spoke — flooded his mind. He heard her voice in the words Tauras and the vendor exchanged. Heard her singing to him in a language he must have once known — a language that now only lived in his name.</p><p>Raivis' eyes stung, and it had nothing to do with the cold. He turned away, wiping them with a gloved hand.</p><p>"Are you all right?" Tauras was asking, and Raivis picked his head up eagerly for a moment, thinking the language had come back to him, only to realize Tauras was speaking German again.</p><p>The boy sniffed and nodded. "'M fine," he mumbled.</p><p>Only a faint whisper of a smile remained on Tauras' face as he handed Raivis a pancake with a plum topping folded and wrapped in paper.</p><p>Raivis took it, his hands warming as he held the steaming treat.</p><p>"I'm sorry it's not a donut," Tauras smirked, mis-reading the frown creasing Raivis' brow. "We can get one later, if you like."</p><p>"It's not that," Raivis said quietly. "It's — " His eyes darted up to Tauras', then back down.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Teach it to me." Raivis chanced another glance up at Tauras. The smile was gone now, replaced by the familiar thin line.</p><p>"Teach <em>what</em> to you?"</p><p>"...Your language."</p><p>Tauras sighed, his green eyes darkening as if a shadow had passed behind them. "Why?"</p><p>Raivis shrugged a shoulder, hoping to appear casual, but a lump was settling firmly in his throat. "It...reminds me of home."</p><p>All Tauras could do was stare silently back at the brutally honest answer, his chest sinking. Because he <em>knew</em>. He knew that ache that only came from clinging to something, no matter how small, because it was inextricably linked to that word: <em>home.</em></p><p>Tauras swallowed, wanting to answer, but was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a cream-white horse as it drew up in front of them.</p><p>Tauras blinked, ready to tell the interloper off for coming to a stop while they walked, when he noticed the rider — and the point-topped helmet on his head.</p><p>Tauras put a hand on Raivis' shoulder, ready to steer the boy around the horse, when a voice called out: "Good morning, Mr. Laurinaitis."</p><p>Tauras drew his shoulders back, standing to his full height, as Sergeant-major Beilschmidt swung a long leg down, dismounting his horse.</p><p>"Good morning," Tauras returned tersely.</p><p>"How are you enjoying our little market so far?"</p><p>"We've only just arrived."</p><p>The sergeant-major swept the helmet from his head, a gloved hand scratching through his short, pale hair. The tips of his ears and nose were already red from the cold. He tucked the helmet under his arm as he gave the horse a pat. Raivis was staring at the creature as if he'd never seen one in his life. And maybe he hadn't, Tauras thought. At least not this close.</p><p>The horse shook his head, snorting and pawing the ground. Raivis jumped, ducking behind Tauras.</p><p>Sergeant-major Beilschmidt chortled as he took hold of the bridle, rubbing the horse's neck to soothe it.</p><p>"You know," he said, looking over his shoulder at Raivis, "animals can sense when you're uncomfortable around them. It makes them uncomfortable, too." The horse flicked its tail, pushing its muzzle into the sergeant-major's hand.</p><p>Raivis edged out from behind Tauras, watching the animal with an apprehensive curiosity. "Then...how do I get it to like me?"</p><p>The sergeant-major's eyes were alight, almost playful, as he addressed the boy. "Food is always a good place to start." He nodded to a pouch hanging from the saddle. "There are some oats in there. You can take a handful out and feed him."</p><p>Raivis still hung back, reluctant to approach.</p><p>"Here, watch," the sergeant-major said, demonstrating. "Would you like to try?"</p><p>Raivis chewed his lip and nodded. He approached, reaching into the pouch for the oats. Sergeant-major Beilschmidt kept one hand on the horse's neck, then shifted to rub its muzzle as Raivis offered it the oats. The boy gave a breathy laugh as the horse ate, its breath warm as it nuzzled against his hand. He reached a tentative hand up to stroke it.</p><p>The sergeant-major backed away, coming to stand beside Tauras. "You're not afraid of horses, are you Mr. Laurinaitis?"</p><p>Tauras shook his head. "I grew up around them."</p><p>Sergeant-major Beilschmidt quirked a pale brow. "I take it, then, printing was not your family's profession?"</p><p>Tauras' jaw tightened. "No."</p><p>"Farmers?"</p><p>"...Of a sort."</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, Tauras saw the sergeant-major look at him, no doubt wondering at the vagueness of his answer, but was stayed from giving his thoughts voice by Raivis' sudden laughter. Having finished with the oats, the horse was now nuzzling the pancake in the boy's other hand.</p><p>"Kaspar!" Sergeant-major Beilschmidt admonished. Tauras could only assume he was talking to the horse, and sure enough, the Prussian strode over, putting himself between it and Raivis.</p><p>The sergeant-major led his horse — Kaspar — over to a hitching post and looped the reins through a metal ring.</p><p>"Will you walk with me, Mr. Laurinaitis?" he called over his shoulder.</p><p>Tauras finished his pancake, mind casting about for any excuse to not join the sergeant-major but coming up empty. He reluctantly agreed and the three of them made their way through the crowded market square, with Tauras feeling more like he was being <em>escorted</em> by the gendarme rather than simply accompanying him on a stroll. Tauras set his gaze on the crowds ahead, trying not to let his consternation show. He wondered why the sergeant-major had sought his company and hoped the man would not press him for any more information regarding his business. But the gendarme seemed to have just wanted someone to walk with — he remained quiet as they meandered through the market, which only unnerved Tauras more, having no indication as to what the sergeant-major was after.</p><p>A few flurries drifted down as they walked. Tauras tipped his head back, watching the flakes spiral down. Eduard would be in Tauragė by now, he thought, wondering how his cousin was faring in the February chill. Would he have gotten a room at an inn? Or maybe he was staying with one of his contacts in the city...</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Sergeant-major Beilschmidt watching him. Tauras glanced over. The Prussian looked away, turning his attention back to the market around him, though Tauras thought he saw the faintest trace of a smile cross the gendarme's lips before settling into the haughty expression he usually wore. Tauras bowed his head, hunching further into his scarf and coat. A thick silence settled around them, seeming to block out every sound, even that of the shouts from the crowds in the market. Tauras felt he ought to speak, but words were escaping him.</p><p>"I'm thirsty," Raivis announced as he finished his pancake, and never before had Tauras welcomed the boy's bluntness more than in that instance.</p><p>Sergeant-major Beilschmidt led Tauras and Raivis to a stand selling hot drinks. He ordered first, and as Tauras was debating getting a coffee (or something stronger), the sergeant-major spun around, handing him a cup of dark, spiced wine and Raivis a hot chocolate.</p><p>Tauras blinked. "Oh! Um, th-thank you, s—" He was about to say <em>sergeant</em>, but the designation seemed suddenly too formal for such a friendly gesture. He faltered, mouth opening and closing a few moments.</p><p>"Gilbert," the sergeant-major said. "That's my name." His haughty expression softened into the smile Tauras had seen when the gendarme had come to inspect his print shop. And he could not help but return it.</p><p>"Tauras," he offered by way of introduction.</p><p>"I know," Gilbert said simply.</p><p>Tauras furrowed his brow at that, wondering what <em>else</em> the Prussian knew, as he sipped his mulled wine. Did Gilbert know about his cousin, Eduard? That Tauras had been part of the revolution in his homeland? That, in addition to his native tongue and German, he also spoke Polish and Russian? Would he have even believed the Lithuanian came from a noble family? Decidedly not, Tauras thought, recalling Gilbert's guesses as to what his family did for a living. And he could hardly blame him. Standing beside the Prussian in his crisp uniform, his thick coat with its polished buttons, Tauras looked every bit a poor man's son. The collar of his coat was fraying at the edges, his gloves were threadbare and could not even keep his hands warm. Two of his fingers poked through holes at the top, revealing nail beds outlined in black from the printing ink sunk into his skin. No amount of washing ever seemed to fully clean it away. Compared to him, the sergeant-major was fastidious in appearance. Even when he scratched a hand through his hair, it all fell perfectly back into place. Back into order.</p><p>Tauras swallowed, curling his fingers around his cup, hiding them from Gilbert, surprised the Prussian had not chastised him for the state of his clothes like he had done with the sign hanging above the print shop door. Again came that feeling he was being escorted — no, <em>paraded</em> — down the street as he finished his drink. Almost as if to show off their stark contrast — the poor Lithuanian and the polished Prussian. Why <em>had</em> Gilbert wanted to walk with him?</p><p>The flurries thickened into a light snow as Tauras contemplated ways he and Raivis could slip away from the sergeant-major without seeming impolite. His thoughts were interrupted, however, by a wave rippling through the crowd. Sergeant-major Beilschmidt's sharp eyes had seen it as well.</p><p>"Duty calls," he muttered with a sigh, fastening the helmet back on his head.</p><p>Tauras was ready to slip away then, but Raivis trailed after the sergeant-major, keen on seeing what the commotion was all about. Tauras cursed under his breath and followed.</p><p>The crowd parted as Gilbert approached. In the middle of the street, two men were scuffling on the ground, one on top of the other, throwing punches and yelling something about being pickpocketed. Tauras gathered the one on the ground getting pummeled was the accused thief. He looked not much older than Raivis — seventeen or eighteen, perhaps — while his assailant was every bit of forty, or more.</p><p>Gilbert grabbed the older man by his arm, pulling him away from the younger one. But the man's other fist flew, hitting Gilbert in the mouth just as two more gendarmes broke through the crowd. Gilbert shoved the man at them, the guards twisting his hands behind his back, restraining them with iron cuffs. The man continued to struggle as the guards held him, yelling curses at the young man on the ground.</p><p>Gilbert worked his jaw, gently prodding where the man had punched him. He then turned and spat, a red stain shining on the snow-dusted cobblestones. He turned to the young man and held out a hand, helping him up.</p><p>"Would someone care to explain what is this about?"</p><p>"He robbed me!" the older man cried. Tauras could tell from the slur in his voice he was drunk. "He picked my pockets clean! Now I've no money for the collection plate at tomorrow's services. My wife'll surely throttle me when I get home — "</p><p>Gilbert held up a hand and the man stopped. He turned to the accused thief. "Is this true?"</p><p>The young man looked at the sergeant-major, his eyes holding a momentary confusion. He started to answer, his German broken and accented.</p><p>Tauras' stomach sank when he realized. The young man was Lithuanian.</p><p>Gilbert realized it, too. His eyes instantly sought Tauras', a silent petition for help. "Mr. Laurinaitis, would you please translate?"</p><p>Tauras stepped forward, eyes drifting from the sergeant-major over to the young man and back again. He did not want to get involved in this, but what choice did he have? He only hoped the young man had not taken anything.</p><p>"Ask him if what the man claims is true: Did he steal from him?"</p><p>Tauras swallowed, and asked.</p><p>The young man shook his head, launching into a lengthy explanation, one hand clutching his bruised side, while the other flew in wild arcs as he spoke.</p><p>"He says the man is mistaken. He bumped into him, that's all. It was an accident."</p><p>The older man let out a derisive laugh. "Bullshit! I know what happened! My wallet's gone! And <em>he </em>stole it!"</p><p>"Quiet!" Sergeant-major Beilschmidt commanded. His mouth set into a grim line as he looked at Tauras again. "Ask him to turn out his pockets."</p><p>Tauras did, but the young man balked at the request.</p><p>"Well?" Gilbert asked.</p><p>"He won't do it. He maintains he is innocent."</p><p>"Does he understand if he won't do it, we will have to search him?"</p><p>Tauras made sure he understood. The young man's eyes blazed, shooting a glare at Tauras, as if to ask why he was helping them, these Prussians. With the slightest shake of his head, Tauras answered back: This was not the time to do anything foolish. Though he knew — he <em>understood</em> — the indignation thrumming through the young man's veins because he had felt it all before, watching as foreign powers bled away his culture and his homeland. But this was not his country, and that notion left him feeling powerless to outright challenge any authority here.</p><p>The young man's shoulders sagged, and he complied.</p><p>His pockets were empty.</p><p>Gilbert looked at his guards, at the man held between them. With a jerk of his head, he gave the order: <em>Take him.</em></p><p>"No!" the older man fumed, struggling against the gendarmes' grasp. "He took my wallet! I swear! Search him! Don't believe him, he's lying! Search him!"</p><p>It was then Raivis noticed something laying near the gutter, between the edge of the sidewalk and the market street. It was the size of a cobblestone, but brown in color instead of grey. A leather wallet. He picked it up and approached the older man. "Excuse me, is this yours?"</p><p>The crowd around them burst into laughter.</p><p>The man's face went crimson as he spluttered out an explanation, trying to save what little dignity he had left.</p><p>The gendarmes looked from Raivis to Gilbert, wondering what to do.</p><p>"Take him to a cell. Let him sleep his drink off," Gilbert said. "The magistrate can decide what to do with him after."</p><p>Raivis handed one of the guards the man's wallet as they left, dragging the man down the street. The crowd, sensing the spectacle now over, began to disperse. Tauras and the young Lithuanian exchanged a few quick words, the latter stealing a glance at the sergeant-major.</p><p>"He can go," Gilbert said, intuiting their discussion.</p><p>Tauras looked at the young man and nodded. The Lithuanian hesitated a moment, then turned and ambled away through the crowd, one hand still clutching his side.</p><p>Tauras watched him go, his insides roiling, burning at what he had just seen. He imagined the young man going home, explaining to his family what had happened. He saw the shock on the mother's face, the sadness in the father's eyes. His hands clenched at his sides, caught between keeping peace in his expatriation and wanting to throttle that drunkard himself.</p><p>"Is he all right?"</p><p>Tauras startled and turned. Sergeant-major Beilschmidt was looking at him, his expression somber. Red blossomed at the corner of his mouth.</p><p>"You're bleeding," Tauras said.</p><p>The sergeant-major winced as he tried to smile. "Occupational hazard, I'm afraid." He took out a handkerchief and pressed it to his lip. "Is the young man all right?" he asked again.</p><p>"Yes." Tauras' breath was a puff of fog in front of his face.</p><p>"That's good." The sergeant-major tucked his handkerchief back in his pocket. Then he addressed Raivis. "Thank you for your help today. You have very sharp eyes. And a bold manner."</p><p>Raivis' cheeks burned pink. He looked away, mumbling something that sounded like "You're welcome" into his scarf.</p><p>The sergeant-major sighed and rolled his shoulders back. "I'm sure I'll soon have paperwork to see to regarding that little incident. Please excuse me, Mr. Laurinaitis. I did enjoy our walk,” he said, then turned and began making his way back to his horse.</p><p>"He's a strange one," Raivis said.</p><p>Tauras arched a brow, watching Gilbert disappear in the crowd.  "...Yes. He is."</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>o</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p><p>That night, after Raivis had gone to bed, Tauras heated a kettle of water on the stove. Borrowing Eduard's nail brush, he poured the hot water into a bowl, soaped his hands, and scrubbed in earnest. The tips of his fingers were soon bright red. But at least the ink was starting to come off.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N Aaaahh, Tauras, you idiot, hahah! But seriously.</p><p>Not a whole lot of notes for this one, so here we go!</p><p>- Lithuanian mythology: there are a whole slew of stories regarding Perkūnas, Velnias, and the capture of Saulė, so if you're interested definitely check them out! One of them comes from the missionary Jerome of Prague while attempting to Christianize Lithuania who reportedly witnessed the hammer used to free Saulė.</p><p>- Lithuania/Prussia border: it was actually a lot closer to Tauragė than it is now. The current border between Kaliningrad Oblast and Lithuania is at the Neman (Memel) river. But back in the day, East Prussia extended into what is now present-day Lithuania. The town the wagon driver mentions — Laugszargen — is present-day Lauksargiai, Lithuania.</p><p>- Fasching and Užgavėnės: Germany and Lithuania's version of carnival (or Mardi Gras, here in the U.S.). It's basically like a big party until the start of Lent, and the Tuesday right before Ash Wednesday is the final day. There's usually parades and back in the day people would dress up as animals, devils, or fools. I read in Germany one of the traditional foods are jam-filled donuts, while in Lithuania, people eat pancakes topped with fruit or sour cream.</p><p>- Vytis: symbol of Lithuania — a charging knight on a horse depicted in white against a red background</p><p>Thank you all for reading! I hope you all enjoyed this one. Please let me know what you think!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This one's heavy, doc.  Also, Eduard's stepdad is APH Netherlands.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Tilsit, East Prussia, 1863</strong>
</p>
<p>The inn stood just off the market square on a narrow street meandering carelessly down to the river. The plaster and timber frame sunk inward, as if the walls were in dire need of repair. They probably were, thought Eduard, as he eyed the building apprehensively, the way it slouched against the ones surrounding it, as if they were the only thing holding it up.</p>
<p>He pushed his glasses up his nose. This hardly seemed like a place his cousin would have chosen. Him<em>self</em>, on the other hand...well, he'd stayed in worse.</p>
<p>Eduard dug the telegram out of his pocket and checked the address again. It was right — this was the place. He flipped the card over as if it could offer up something else — some other clue as to <em>why</em> his cousin was staying — in <em>Tilsit</em>, of all places — at an inn that looked ready to collapse in on itself. But the back of the telegram was maddeningly blank.</p>
<p>Eduard sighed, adjusted the suitcase in his hand, and entered.</p>
<p>A surly-looking barman led him up a winding set of stairs to the top floor. Eduard had to duck his head to keep from knocking it against the sloping roof.</p>
<p>Tauras' room was the third door on the right.</p>
<p>Eduard thanked the barman, then ensuring he was alone in the hallway, took a moment to compose himself — smoothing jacket lapels and flattening hair and cleaning glasses — and drew a deep, steadying breath. Though they corresponded regularly, it had been a few years since he'd last seen Tauras. And though Eduard had no qualms regarding sharing his exploits in letters, he certainly did not want to <em>look</em> the part of a con artist thief. He wanted to look every bit as respectable — as <em>noble</em> — as Tauras had.</p>
<p>Chin up, eyes down, mouth set. Eduard lifted a hand. And knocked.</p>
<p>The face that greeted him, though, was not the one he remembered.</p>
<p>When they were boys, Tauras had been a field of grass on a summer day, warm and vibrant. That spirit had since left him, and he just seemed...hollowed out. Tauras was thin, his shoulders rounded. A shadow hung behind his eyes — eyes that would not look <em>at</em> Eduard, but around him, <em>through</em> him.</p>
<p>Eduard's lofty guise melted at the sight of his cousin. He set his suitcase down just inside the door and scooped Tauras into a tight embrace.</p>
<p>Air hissed through his cousin's teeth, his shoulders tensing.</p>
<p>Eduard let go and stepped back, alarmed. "What is it? What's wrong?"</p>
<p>"Nothing. I'm fine," Tauras said — and Eduard could not help notice the quaver in his voice, nor the pained look creasing his brow.</p>
<p>"No, you're not."</p>
<p>"I said I'm <em>fine</em>, Ed."</p>
<p>Eduard studied him — the shadow lurking in his eyes, the subtle way his shoulders shifted up and down. He noted the shirt, the coarse cotton weave unlike the finer cloth he had last seen his cousin wearing.</p>
<p>Eduard frowned. "What happened to you?" he asked softly.</p>
<p>Tauras raked a hand through his disheveled hair, shaking his head. "I need a drink," he muttered as he shouldered past his cousin, descending to the bar below.</p>
<p>Eduard followed him down the stairs, eyes catching on the faint, rust-colored lines hatching across the back of Tauras' shirt.</p>
<p>They sat at a small table near a window, the glass fogged from tobacco smoke and factory soot. The city beyond looked just as dulled under a hazy summer sky. The surly barman that had shown Eduard upstairs brought over two clay mugs of beer, all but throwing them onto the table.</p>
<p>"Welcome to Prussia," Eduard said under his breath as the barman stalked off. He picked up his mug, drinking a long draught.</p>
<p>Moments later, a young woman brought over two bowls of stew and a loaf of rye bread. Eduard flashed her a smile out of habit. She returned it, cheeks reddening as he gave her a swift, appraising look over, but she had nothing on her worth pickpocketing. He turned back to Tauras, who was idly stirring his stew.</p>
<p>"So," Eduard said, "Tilsit. Are you going to tell me what's going on? Why the hell you're <em>here</em>" — he glanced around — "in this hovel of an inn? The last thing I heard from you, you were at the seminary. And don't you dare tell me you've come here to minister to these people. I know priests take a vow of poverty and everything, but the last time I checked, they don't dress like workmen. You can't lie to a conman, cousin. Lies are what I do for a living, and yours are terrible."</p>
<p>"I'm not a priest," Tauras said quietly.</p>
<p>Eduard's mouth settled into a thin line, his eyes blazing behind his glasses. Corresponding for years in letters had made him forget just how obstinate his cousin could be. Because letters could be edited. That part of yourself you did not wish to show could be hidden, buried with words — or else removed completely.</p>
<p>"You <em>asked</em> me to come here," he pressed. "The least you could do is tell me why."</p>
<p>"Is it wrong of me to want to see a familiar face?"</p>
<p>Eduard folded his arms. "Stop avoiding the question."</p>
<p>Tauras' eyes drifted up to lock on his cousin's. Eduard felt himself shrink away at the look they held. Tauras flicked his gaze around the bar, but they were its only occupants. The barmaid had gone back to the kitchen, and the man was nowhere to be seen.</p>
<p>"I left the seminary, and I can't go back home. That's all you need to know."</p>
<p>Eduard scowled, drinking his beer. It was just like when they were boys. Tauras, the leader; Eduard, following his every word. Tauras, the nobleman's son; Eduard, the bastard-child-turned-serving-boy, following his master's orders. They would never be equals, no matter how much Tauras had promised it when they were younger. Whether he knew it or not, Tauras still behaved much like the entitled boy he was raised to be, believing his word would forever be final.</p>
<p>"You plan to stay here, then?" Eduard asked, a cutting edge to his voice.</p>
<p>"Yes. I don't have much of a choice."</p>
<p>Eduard arched a brow, finishing his beer. "Don't you? You could have gone anywhere — Berlin, Munich— but you chose <em>Tilsit </em>and can't even deign to tell me why." He pulled his bowl of stew closer, tearing a piece of bread from the loaf and dipped it in, watching his cousin. "What does your family think, of you living here?"</p>
<p>"They don't know. For all I know, they still think I'm at the seminary, or — " Tauras broke off, shaking his head. The shadow was back behind his eyes. He drank deeply from his beer mug.</p>
<p>"There are other Lithuanians here," Tauras continued, as if to himself. "I just need to make contact. They'll have ways of knowing what's happening back home."</p>
<p>Eduard's eyes narrowed as he slowly chewed his bread. Pieces of the puzzle were gradually falling into place. "You're talking as if...this is something <em>permanent."</em></p>
<p>Tauras looked at him a moment, as if disbelieving his cousin could really be that obtuse. "Of course it's permanent, Ed. I already told you: I <em>can't go</em> back home."</p>
<p>"No, I know that, but it's just...I'm trying to understand — and help <em>you</em> understand — whatever's happened, you're on your own now. Do you know what that means, truly?"</p>
<p>"Yes — "</p>
<p>"Then what's your plan?" Eduard asked, tipping his chin back. A challenge. For once, <em>he</em> had the upper hand. For once, his cousin would have to listen to <em>him.</em></p>
<p>"I have money. It's not much, but it'll support me until I can find work."</p>
<p>Eduard shook his head. "Unfortunately, it's not as simple as you make it sound. Be honest with yourself — you haven't worked a day in your life. What skills do you have? What experience? You can paint and draw, play piano, speak four languages — that's fine for impressing the ladies and gentlemen of society, but you're not in <em>that</em> world anymore."</p>
<p>Tauras bristled. "I haven't been in <em>that</em> world for the past three years, or have you forgotten?"</p>
<p>"I'd hardly count the seminary as useful," Eduard retorted, "unless you plan to join a monastery."</p>
<p>"You know nothing of where I've been or what I've done — " Tauras' teeth clacked together as he cut himself off mid-sentence. He shoved himself up from the table. "This was a mistake." He turned and stormed out of the inn.</p>
<p>"Shit." Eduard sighed, adjusted his glasses, and stood. He tossed a few coins onto the table for their meal, then left to find his cousin.</p>
<p>Tauras was seated on the banks of the Memel, elbows resting on his knees, staring across the river. He turned, hearing the crunch of sandy gravel behind him.</p>
<p>"You always did like the water," Eduard remarked, hands resting in his pockets. "I remember following you through the woods to the stream when we were younger. And Nanny finding us and scolding us every single time."</p>
<p>Tauras bowed his head, a faint smile softening the hard edges of his face. "She should have known not to sit on the terrace when she took us outside. The sun always made her fall asleep, and we'd always sneak away then."</p>
<p>Eduard chuckled at the memory. He sat down beside his cousin. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you back there. We've always been honest with each other. But something's changed that."</p>
<p>Tauras swallowed, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. "It's not your fault. I wasn't lying when I said I wanted to see a familiar face. I did — I <em>do</em>. But seeing you — here — all of a sudden...it made everything seem too real. Everything that's happened the past few days...it feels like it belongs to someone else's life, not mine."</p>
<p>"What <em>has</em> happened?" Eduard asked gently.</p>
<p>Tauras looked at his cousin, his face stricken. "I was caught, Ed."</p>
<p>Eduard's brow furrowed. "You mean like — like last time, when your brother — "</p>
<p>Tauras shook his head, a wry smile twisting his lips. "No. Nothing like that. Though I'm sure I've only further disgraced myself as far as my father is concerned." He picked up a rock, thumb brushing over its smooth, worn surface. "I'm a traitor to the empire. I was arrested and punished as such. And that's what I mean when I say I can't go home. If I do, I'll just be arrested again — only this time I'm sure my sentence won't be as lenient as a whipping and a train ride to Siberia."</p>
<p>Eduard's face paled under the waning afternoon sun. His eyes flicked to his cousin's back, to the faint marks on his shirt.</p>
<p>Tauras' shoulders shifted. "And that's not even the worst of it," he said, casting a sidelong glance at his cousin. "I left the seminary and joined the uprising. We thought we could overthrow the empire and get our country back. It sounds so foolish to say now, but..." His voice trailed away, eyes growing distant. "It was such a simple plan. We ambushed them, these Russians soldiers — my squadron did — and one of them was <em>right there</em> in my sights but I...I c-couldn't — I couldn't shoot him."</p>
<p>"I <em>ran</em>, Ed," he rasped. "I turned and I ran, and now they're dead because of me. I failed my country just as I failed my men."</p>
<p>They sat in silence, listening to the steady trickle of the river as it gently flowed by the bank.</p>
<p>"I tried to cross the border," Tauras continued, voice thick, "but a Russian soldier recognized me — one of the ones from the ambush. I was brought to the customs house in Tauragė and sentenced to Kara. Needless to say, I escaped. I hid in the back of a wagon and crossed into Prussia four days ago. Though...there's a part of me that thinks I should have stayed — stayed and...finished my sentence instead of running again. I owe my men that much, at least."</p>
<p>Tauras let the rock fall from his hand. Eduard placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Words of assurance, of comfort, clung to the tip of his tongue, but he knew it would do his cousin no good to hear them just now. They would sound empty and trite compared to the immeasurable guilt Tauras sought to atone for. Sometimes, the only thing you could do was sit with someone and watch the water.</p>
<p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>o</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p>
<p>Eduard went for a walk around Tilsit later that evening. If Tauras did indeed plan to make this city his new home, they would need better lodgings. Eduard included himself in that measure because, as he told his cousin, he may have worn out his welcome in Chemnitz. Actually most of Saxony, really. So he set out, scouting the rest of the city to see where they might feasibly purchase accommodations. Tauras told him of the money he'd managed to get from the estate. Paired with Eduard's share from his last con, they would be able to live decently for a few months. But there was still the problem of work. Tauras would need a job and Eduard would need to make contacts as soon as possible. Though he would need to use discretion — Tilsit was nowhere near as big as the cities in Saxony — and his cousin would not appreciate being run out of town after only having just arrived.</p>
<p>Most of the Lithuanian population clustered around the riverfront or around the Lithuanian church further inland. Eduard took this information back to his cousin, along with noting a few help wanted signs hanging in windows near their vicinity.</p>
<p>When he got back to their room, he found his cousin standing in front of the dresser mirror. A basin of water rested on a table nearby. Tauras had removed his shirt and was gingerly cleaning the cuts criss-crossing his back, shoulders tensing as he caught sight of Eduard reflected in the mirror.</p>
<p>Eduard lowered his head, averting his gaze. "Sorry. I...guess I should have knocked first."</p>
<p>Tauras simply stared back — that same hollow stare from earlier. All sound seemed to be sucked from the room, save for the steady drip of water from the rag in his hand as he squeezed it over the basin.</p>
<p>"I, um, might have something for that," Eduard said, eyes flicking up to his cousin's, then back down.</p>
<p>The tension eased from Tauras. He lowered the rag, giving a near imperceptible nod of his head.</p>
<p>Eduard went to his suitcase, his movements stiff, limbs feeling like they belonged to someone else and not him. He knelt and flicked open the latches, taking a moment to collect himself as he lifted the lid, uncomfortably aware of his cousin watching him the whole time. There, resting on top, was a black leather case. Eduard took it out and set it on the bed, making a quick rummage through it.</p>
<p>"You travel with a medical kit?" Tauras asked.</p>
<p>"I travel with everything all the time," Eduard said, trying to keep his voice light. "You never know when you'll have to pretend to be a surgeon." He spun around, holding up a roll of dressing and a container of salve.</p>
<p>The curiously amused expression Tauras wore as he watched his cousin shifted and became closed once again. <em>Like a cloud passing over the sun</em>, Eduard thought.</p>
<p>Tauras wordlessly approached and sat on the bed. Eduard patted his back dry with a clean cloth and began applying the salve. It had a woody smell, and he'd used it before to treat everything from scrapes and boils to eczema — much to his former patients' satisfaction. He often thought if he had been able to keep with his schooling, he would have liked to become a doctor. A <em>real</em> doctor. It was probably why he spent so many years watching and imitating them, pretending to be them — and stealing whatever medical instruments he could get his hands on.</p>
<p>Eduard applied the dressing once he was finished with the salve, his eyes catching on the small golden cross around his cousin's neck. He remembered the letter Tauras had sent him, almost a year after he had left boarding school. They were both sixteen and Tauras was absolutely besotted with his best friend from childhood. Eduard had already known this. Had known long before his cousin knew it himself, from the way Tauras would talk of Feliks in his letters to Eduard.</p>
<p>"Do you still think of him?" Eduard asked, nodding at the cross.</p>
<p>"Sometimes." A sad smile passed over Tauras' lips. "I suppose I was lucky my father sent me to become a priest instead of forcing me into the imperial army, like Feliks' father did to him." He reached up, closing his hand around the cross. "Mostly though, I just hope he's safe."</p>
<p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>o</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Leipzig, Germany, 1857-1863</strong>
</p>
<p>The laugh was still on Eduard's face as he rounded the stairs, counting the money he had just swindled from the boys in the school's courtyard. It was the afternoon recess, just before the next block of classes were due to start. The empty walnut shells clicked together in his pocket as he made his way down the hall to the dormitories. The younger ones were such easy targets, he mused. But even some of the older boys had joined in, placing bets on which shell they thought the pebble was under. No one ever guessed right, though. Not unless Eduard let them, to show the game was indeed fair. He learned that one the hard way when Mathias blacked his eye after losing five games in a row last month. Eduard decided to change his strategy. He couldn't <em>always</em> win — it would drive off business. And business, that day, was good.</p>
<p>Eduard pocketed the money as he entered the room he shared with seven other boys. He was halfway through sliding his trunk out from under his bed when the sharp clearing of a throat made him startle and spin around.</p>
<p>The headmaster stood framed in the doorway. The smile vanished from Eduard's face. His first thought was that he'd been caught, that he'd have to give the money back and spend the rest of the week on kitchen duty. It wouldn't be the first time. But as the headmaster stepped in, two more people followed him as well. Two faces Eduard had not seen in five years.</p>
<p>"Hello, Eduard," Juozas said, in a language at once familiar and yet sounding so foreign after hearing and speaking nothing but German for so long. If Eduard had not kept up correspondence with his cousin or read the book on Lithuanian myths Tauras had given him every night just before bed, the simple greeting would have been lost on him.</p>
<p>Tauras stood behind his father, sending Eduard a small wave. It was a shock to see his cousin now, his boyish face thinned into something more angular, his brown hair grown longer and waved back from his face, as was the style.</p>
<p>Eduard looked from his cousin to his uncle to the headmaster, who finally addressed him: "Your uncle has something he wishes to discuss."</p>
<p>"Please, let's take a walk," Juozas said, this time switching to German. He smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. "You can show us the grounds. It's a lovely day."</p>
<p>Eduard's eyes narrowed. Though the rain from that morning had stopped, the sky remained overcast. A damp chill hung in the November air.</p>
<p>"But I have classes soon," he said.</p>
<p>The headmaster shook his head. He wore the same kind of smile as Juozas. "It's all right, Eduard. No need to worry about your lessons today. Go with your uncle. I'll let your teachers know of your absence."</p>
<p>Eduard pushed his trunk back under the bed with one foot, then shoved his hands in his pockets, fingers curling firmly around the walnut shells and money he had won. He shouldered past his uncle to lead them down the stairs, hardly caring if they kept up. He set off for the main academic building, behind which stood a small pond, and only slowed once he reached the far end, away from the building entrance and the boys gathering for afternoon classes.</p>
<p>"Why are you here?" he asked, rounding on his uncle.</p>
<p>Juozas, stopped short by the sudden question, stared agape a few moments, catching his breath.</p>
<p>"It can't be anything good," Eduard continued.</p>
<p>"And why would you think that?" Juozas asked, regaining the imperious manner Eduard had remembered from his youth.</p>
<p>"Because I have not heard a word from you — or <em>him</em> — in five years. And now here you are, all of a sudden, without even a letter letting me know."</p>
<p>"Unfortunately the matter I'm here to discuss is rather too delicate to put in a letter."</p>
<p>Eduard glanced at his cousin, standing in Juozas' shadow, searching for some clue as to why they were there. Guilt darkened Tauras' eyes as he averted his gaze, telling Eduard his cousin knew — knew, and had not warned him first.</p>
<p>"My brother has never had a mind for financial responsibility," Juozas continued. "It's something I've tried remedying, but when it comes to money, he unfortunately cannot see past the present."</p>
<p>A sudden wind rippled across the pond, pulling at the hem of Juozas' long woolen coat. Eduard pressed his fists further into his pockets, shoulders rounding in his worn jacket, shivering and wishing his uncle would get on with it.</p>
<p>"Benas has come into debt," Juozas stated bluntly. "His arrears from gambling and other expenses have forced me to take control of his assets until his debts can be settled."</p>
<p>Eduard eyed his uncle shrewdly. He had a feeling he knew where this was going. "And what does that mean for me?"</p>
<p>Juozas sighed. For a moment, Eduard almost thought he seemed remorseful. "This school is an expense we can no longer bear to support. You can either stay here in Leipzig and find work or return with us to Lithuania. I can put you in contact with an affluent family who would hire you — "</p>
<p>"As a servant?" Eduard interjected.</p>
<p>"You would have a comfortable life, Eduard. Better than you would have here."</p>
<p>"And be separated — again! — from my <em>family</em>!"</p>
<p>A look of hurt flitted across Tauras' face at the forcefulness — and unspoken implication — of his cousin's words.</p>
<p>Eduard shook his head. "I'm no longer your charge anymore. I'm staying."</p>
<p>Juozas' jaw clenched. "Very well. Then pack your things. My carriage will take you to your mother's house."</p>
<p>Eduard spun on his heel, heading back to his dormitory. He heard footsteps hurrying to catch up to him and knew they belonged to Tauras. But Eduard's longer legs easily outpaced his cousin's.</p>
<p>A few boys greeted him as he mounted the stairs, taking two at a time. Eduard blew by them. He did not want to see their faces, did not want to see the looks they gave him once they found out.</p>
<p>Eduard had his trunk packed in minutes and was soon carrying it down the stairs with Tauras' help. Neither one spoke.</p>
<p>The carriage was just pulling up as the boys were coming outside. Eduard's trunk was loaded and secured on the back. He climbed inside, sitting opposite his cousin and uncle as the carriage began its journey.</p>
<p>They drove from the forested suburbs deep into the central part of the city. Four- and six-story buildings sprung up around them, their elaborately ornate facades reflecting a Renaissance style, though they were hardly a decade old and built to accommodate Leipzig's growing wealthy population. Eduard looked away in disgust. They travelled east, past the market and university, where the buildings were far less impressive. Sensing the shift in scenery, Eduard turned his attention back to the window. Factory towers dotted the skyline, their soot blackened chimneys churning out steady coal-dark clouds. The homes here were built out of a need for space. As the city center swelled with wealthy new merchants and factory owners, so too did its outskirts. Factories needed workers, and Leipzig suddenly found itself in the middle of an economic boom as more and more people moved into the city. In between older structures, new ones went up — brick and plaster boxes filling in the gaps along the street. Eduard's mother's house, though, had been here long before that.</p>
<p>The carriage slowed as it approached the street corner. At the end stood a narrow, timber framed house. Built by Eduard's grandfather — a man whom he had never met — and left to his mother shortly before Eduard came to Leipzig, its plaster coating was gone in places, exposing crumbling brick infill between the wood beams. A few of the other houses near it were in similar states of disrepair. Feeling heat rise up his neck, Eduard ducked his head, momentarily catching his cousin's gaze. Questions blazed behind his cousin's eyes, but Eduard would not speak to him — not yet and not in front of his uncle.</p>
<p>Without waiting for the driver, Eduard opened the door and stepped out, fingers already loosening the ropes holding his trunk when Tauras approached. Juozas remained in the carriage.</p>
<p>"Can I help?"</p>
<p>"I can manage," Eduard said stiffly.</p>
<p>But Tauras, refusing to be put off by his cousin any longer, grabbed a handle and helped hoist the trunk down.</p>
<p>Eduard's gaze flicked up, a smirk playing across his lips as they carried it up to the front door. "What kind of a nobleman's son are you?"</p>
<p>Tauras gave a breathy laugh. "Not a good one, apparently."</p>
<p>"I can take it from here," Eduard said.</p>
<p>A small crease formed between Tauras' eyebrows — a reluctance, a hesitation, as if letting go of the handle meant letting go of his Eduard.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry, Ed," he said, the words whispered, an urgent breath. "He swore me not to tell you. I had to <em>beg</em> just to come along."</p>
<p>Eduard glanced over his cousin's shoulder, at the black carriage waiting on the street. "It's all right," he said gently. "I'm not mad at you."</p>
<p>The tension eased from Tauras' face with a sigh. "I wish you would reconsider. I wish you would...would come back home."</p>
<p>Eduard's face became solemn. "But it's not my home."</p>
<p>"And...<em>here</em> is?" Tauras said, eyeing the crumbling building.</p>
<p>Eduard shrugged.</p>
<p>Tauras' lips formed a thin line as he looked at his cousin. He set his end of the trunk down.</p>
<p>"I'll write," Eduard said, "as soon as I'm settled here." He jerked his head at the house behind him.</p>
<p>Tauras nodded. "You'd better," he said, his voice brittle. He pulled his cousin into a hug a moment before departing.</p>
<p>Eduard watched him go, watched the carriage as it trundled off down the cobbled street. He then turned to the door and knocked.</p>
<p>It was soon answered by a man with a mop of short blonde hair and sharp green eyes. A clay pipe stuck out of his mouth, the smoke wreathing his face.</p>
<p>"The hell're you doing here?"</p>
<p>"Last time I checked, this was <em>my</em> house, too."</p>
<p>"Yeah, and last time <em>I </em>checked, you were off at your fancy school."</p>
<p>"Can I just come in, okay, instead of freezing out here?"</p>
<p>The man, Jan, was Eduard's stepfather. He and Eduard's mother had married last year at the end of summer, after only a three month engagement.</p>
<p>Jan leaned against the doorway, arms folded. "Not 'til you tell me why you're here."</p>
<p>Eduard groaned, knocking Jan aside with his shoulder as he pushed past, dragging his trunk behind him.</p>
<p>Jan gripped his arm, pulling him back. "Hey! I'm in the middle of a business meeting."</p>
<p>"I thought you did those at the pub," Eduard hissed.</p>
<p>"Yeah. I did. But, circumstances being what they are and all that, we had to move the center of our operations."</p>
<p>"Christ. If my mother knew — "</p>
<p>"She does," Jan said, letting go of Eduard's arm. "Liese suggested it, actually."</p>
<p>Voices filtered from the kitchen down the narrow hall, calling Jan's name.</p>
<p>"Look, just go upstairs, unpack your stuff, and be quiet. I'll be done soon."</p>
<p>Not wanting to argue anymore, Eduard dragged his case up to his room.</p>
<p>It was another hour before he heard the sound of voices again, the front door opening and shutting, the sound of his stepfather's feet mounting the stairs. Eduard sat on his bed, his feet resting on top of his unopened suitcase. After living out of it for so long at the boarding school, it always felt strange coming home and having a place to keep his things, if only for a little while. Though, he supposed, he ought to get used to it now.</p>
<p>Eduard looked up as Jan entered. His stepfather was holding two cups of coffee. Jan handed one to Eduard as he took a seat next to him on the bed.</p>
<p>"You get kicked out?" Jan asked, nodding at the case.</p>
<p>"Why would you think that?" Eduard said, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice.</p>
<p>Jan shrugged. "Thought it might have something to do with these." He reached into a pocket and took out three walnut shells.</p>
<p>Eduard's eyes widened behind his glasses. "Give those back!" He made a grab for them, but Jan pulled away with a laugh.</p>
<p>"You oughta be more careful when you pass by people," his stepfather said. "Anyone could just reach into your pocket and snatch whatever you've got." He handed the shells back to Eduard. "You know how to use those?"</p>
<p>"Of course," Eduard said, bristling.</p>
<p>"Show me."</p>
<p>Eduard sighed and knelt down beside his trunk. Jan joined him, sitting cross-legged on the floor, facing his stepson. Eduard arranged the shells in a line on top of the trunk, placing the pebble under the middle one. He shifted the shells' positions around three times, this time lifting the one on the right to reveal the stone. He shuffled them again five times, all the while keeping up a steady stream of chatter meant to distract his mark, though he knew such a trick was useless on Jan. The man was a professional con artist.</p>
<p>When he was done, Eduard arranged the shells in a neat line before him.</p>
<p>"Where's the pebble?" he asked.</p>
<p>Jan studied the shells. "If I were some poor wagering sap, I'd say the middle one."</p>
<p>Eduard made to lift it. Jan caught him by the wrist and smirked. "But unfortunately for you, I'm not just another sap. It's in your hand." He flipped Eduard's wrist over and gave a squeeze. The boy uncurled his fingers, revealing a round, white pebble.</p>
<p>"It's a clever trick. Your sleight of hand would've fooled just about anyone."</p>
<p>"Except you."</p>
<p>Jan grinned. "Except me." He sipped his coffee, then asked: "Where'd you learn it?"</p>
<p>"There was a traveller carnival that passed through at the end of August. Me and couple of boys snuck off to go see it. One of them nearly lost his whole purse on the shell game. When we got back to the dormitory, I started practicing, trying to figure it out — but the stupid pebble kept rolling out from under the shell. That's when I realized how they did it."</p>
<p>"And is that why they kicked you out?"</p>
<p>"I told you, I <em>didn't</em> get kicked out. My father — " Eduard stopped himself, pressing his lips tight together.</p>
<p>The grin slid away from Jan's face, replaced by the serious look that always made Eduard wonder if he was plotting murder. "What about him?"</p>
<p>Eduard lowered his gaze and drank his coffee, anything to avoid the piercing stare Jan was now giving him.</p>
<p>"He...can't afford it anymore," Eduard said quietly. "His brother told me today. Said I could either go back to Lithuania with him or stay here. So I picked here." He glanced up at Jan. His stepfather's face momentarily softened hearing Eduard had chosen Leipzig — and by extension, <em>him</em> — over returning with a man that wanted nothing to do with him. Jan clapped a hand on Eduard's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.</p>
<p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>o</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p>
<p>Later that evening, Eduard was in the kitchen, helping Jan clean the dishes from the evening meal. His mother, Liese, came home just as the bells in the city square were chiming six times. She worked at one of the textile factories and was overjoyed to see her son. Jan had prepared dinner, watched by an astonished Eduard. He had seen his stepfather cook before, but that was over the summer when he only thought Jan was doing it to impress his mother in their brief courtship.</p>
<p>The house was quiet that evening, save for the occasional splash and drip as Jan dunked a plate into a tub of water then handed it ff to Eduard to dry. It had been that way since dinner, when Eduard again recounted for his mother why he was home. Her face became doleful at the mention of Benas. Jan picked moodily at his food. No further conversation was to be had after that.</p>
<p>Then Liese started to cough, the sound wet and phlegmy. She rubbed a hand against her chest, clearing her throat when she was done, excusing herself, saying she had not much of an appetite. Jan suggested she lie down, but Liese waved him off insisting she was fine. She went into the living room and began working on some knitting. Eduard and his stepfather finished their meal and began cleaning up.</p>
<p>Even now, as Eduard helped dry the dishes, he could hear his mother clearing her throat or giving a subdued cough. He had the impression she was doing her best to hold it back, so it would not sound as bad as it had at dinner.</p>
<p>"How long has she been sick?" he asked.</p>
<p>"It started in September," Jan said. "At first, the doctor thought it was just a cold. But what cold lasts two months? He eventually gave her laudanum for the pain in her chest. He won't outright say it, but we both know. It's consumption."</p>
<p>Eduard's hands went slack, the plate he was drying nearly slipping from his grip. He caught it just in time and set it in the cabinet with trembling fingers.</p>
<p>"She didn't want you to worry," Jan continued, answering the question now flitting through Eduard's head. "That's why we didn't tell you."</p>
<p>"And when were you going to?" Eduard hissed under his breath. "When it was too late?"</p>
<p>Jan's shoulders sunk. In the other room, Liese coughed again. Jan dried his hands on a towel and went to check on her. Eduard could hear them talking in low voices, his stepfather gently coaxing his mother to go to bed and get some rest. He put away the last of the dishes then took the water basin outside to dump. When he returned, he found his stepfather sitting at the kitchen table, a freshly lit pipe stuck between his teeth.</p>
<p>"What's you plan now you have no more school?"</p>
<p>Eduard's eyes narrowed. "What, just like <em>that</em>, you expect me to — "</p>
<p>"I understand you're angry. At me, your old man, hell maybe even your mother. And that's fine. Be angry. But it's not gonna fix any of what's happened. So you can either sit and stew or do something about it."</p>
<p>"...Like what?" Eduard said, seating himself across the table.</p>
<p>"Like helping me with a job."</p>
<p>"And what good will <em>that</em> do?" Eduard scoffed, folding his arms.</p>
<p>"It'll get us money, for one thing. Money that could afford a better doctor — one that might know how to treat your mother properly. And for another, well...it'd put a sting on those snobs living in the city's center. I'm talking about an art heist," Jan said at the confused look etched across Eduard's brow.</p>
<p>"I know it's not exactly anything to do with your old man, but it would still be a hit to those of his ilk," Jan continued, puffing on his pipe.</p>
<p>"And you want <em>me</em> to help?"</p>
<p>Jan nodded, glancing at Eduard's hands. "You'd prove a useful distraction with that trick of yours. Also a good way to canvass the area, having you set up a little table for a penny shell game, and keeping a watch out for any regular patrols, people coming and going, things like that."</p>
<p>Eduard regarded his stepfather skeptically. "Wouldn't I just stick out? I mean, we don't exactly look like we belong."</p>
<p>Jan waved the comment away. "There's always buskers in the center. Rich folk toss 'em a coin and continue on their way, feeling they've done something charitable. Your little act would be no different."</p>
<p>"But I'm not playing a fiddle or dancing a jig. It's gambling."</p>
<p>"Which is why it's imperative to be watchful," Jan smirked. "Keep one eye on your game and the other on your surroundings at all times."</p>
<p>As he listened to his stepfather, Eduard felt a new weight settling on his shoulders. Yet this one was not as heavy as finding out his mother only had a year or two at most left to live, or the odd guilt he had been made to feel time and again over his own illegitimacy. No. This was something different. Something lighter. For once, he felt he belonged to something. For once, he felt <em>wanted. </em>It was a comforting weight, it seemed to Eduard, one that balanced out the other burdens of that day.</p>
<p>"Okay," he breathed. "What's the plan?"</p>
<p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>o</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p>
<p>Two years had passed since that fateful day. Two years since he had been forced from his school. Two years since he had made that decision to join his stepfather and help pull off what had been their biggest con up to that point. In the intervening years, they had fenced three more pieces of art, each one with a slightly higher price tag. Not that any of it did any good, for despite all the doctors, despite all the treatments, Liese still succumbed to her disease, passing just after her and Jan's third wedding anniversary. Eduard's stepfather became subdued after that. They went back to doing small jobs. Many days, Eduard would run his shell game, either in the streets or around the local pubs, while Jan drank away his grief.</p>
<p>Sometimes, when he could no longer stand to be around his sullen stepfather, Eduard would wander the streets of Leipzig, watching people, trying to imitate their style and mannerisms. He became so good at it, he had one restaurant believing he was the son of a wealthy mill owner and would always charge his meals to the man's account. He even found his way into a few university lectures this way. But of particular fascination for him were hospitals.</p>
<p>At boarding school, Eduard's instructors often lamented he had <em>such</em> potential, if only he would actually use it and apply himself. But the truth was, Eduard <em>had</em> used it. He had studiously applied himself his first three years there. The problem was the curriculum and instructors offered no further challenge after he continued to ace every bit of work or exam set to him. He quickly grew bored, realizing if the school wasn't going to put in the effort to challenge him academically, why should he put in the effort on assignments?</p>
<p>In the end, he felt fully justified coasting by those last two years as his education there came to its end through no fault of his own — unless you counted being born, Eduard thought bitterly. But, had he been able to continue his education, he often thought he should have liked to get into medicine. Science classes at least held <em>some </em>interest, even when nothing else did. And he found himself drawn more and more to the doctors that would come and examine his mother and prescribe different treatments. He would watch them and study the tools they used. He lied his way into operating theatres, pretending to be a student to watch surgeries while taking notes and making diagrams in a notebook. Later, he would stroll through the hospital, pocketing various instruments until he had amassed his own medical kit.</p>
<p>When Jan cut his hand during a late night breaking and entering job, Eduard cleaned and stitched up the gash. He became the medic of their small crew, patching up everything from bloody noses in bar fights to setting dislocated shoulders. And when he dreamed at night, it was always of his mother, and him finding a cure.</p>
<p>Eduard started posing as a real physician shortly after. Jan, however, wanted to keep using him as a lookout for wherever they staged their next job. But Eduard had grown bored cheating the public through his shell game. And what if one of his "patients" came upon the young doctor gambling in the street? His reputation would be ruined. He and Jan fought over it until Eduard finally decided to move. He would spend the next three years moving from city to city, setting up his own medical practice in each, until word of the talented young doctor reached the ears of licensed physicians and they came to investigate the upstart who was stealing all their patients away. But somehow the young doctor would be gone long before the authorities could get involved.</p>
<p>He returned to Chemnitz in the summer of 1863 only to find yellowing wanted posters of his face hanging on lampposts around the neighborhood where he ran his practice the year before. He went back to Leipzig, a city he had not set foot in, in years. He planned to lie low for a while, maybe even get a factory job — and there were certainly no shortage of them as even more smoke towers dotted the skyline. The city was booming. More and more people were moving in, meaning there were more marks to be had. Eduard felt himself growing restless and eager at the thought. But then Jan handed him the telegram. The one from his cousin. In Tilsit. And Eduard was gone again.</p>
<p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>o</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Tauragė County, Lithuania, 1869</strong>
</p>
<p>The woods rushed by in a blur as Eduard sped through them. The flat grey sky above offered no sun and therefore no indication of time, but that mattered little to him. All that mattered was his own desperation to get home.</p>
<p><em>Home.</em> When had he started thinking of Tilsit as home? Strange, that. Maybe it always had been, in a way. Ever since he found Tauras at that inn. Ever since he had wrapped himself wholly, unwaveringly, into his cousin's book smuggling plans and dreams of helping his country. Tauras, for all that had happened to him, still believed in something. And it made Eduard believe too. Made him believe his talents could be used for something good, something meaningful, instead of selfish profit.</p>
<p>Too bad it had to take a chance run-in with his father for him to realize that.</p>
<p><em>Stupid,</em> Eduard thought. <em>You never should have come back looking for him.</em></p>
<p>He shoved aside a branch, boots crashing through the dead leaves and snow covering the forest floor. He was being incautious and he knew it, but the greater part of his mind was too consumed with thoughts of his father and images of the now empty estate his cousin once called home. He <em>had</em> to let Tauras know. But the house was soon obscured by his father as he knocked back another glass of vodka, his clothes patched, hair unkempt, an uneven gaze leveled at Eduard behind glasses smeared with grime. A portrait of a man ruined. But Benas' downfall was his own doing. A twinge of pity, of curiosity, tugged at Eduard when he had first seen his father a month ago. But he had been too scared, then, to try to approach. He returned home to Tilsit, but the questions only grew in the back of his mind. And he knew the only way to answer them was to return soon to Tauragė.</p>
<p>He had not been honest with Tauras. For perhaps the first time ever. He had only wanted to return to confront his father, to face his own feelings of inadequacy that had gnawed at him since his last trip and this one. Though he had not been prepared for what he discovered.</p>
<p>Eduard paused to catch his breath. He had been following the Jūra river out of Tauragė, pressing along at a strenuous pace for about an hour. He was almost to the border, but thirst had overcome him. Black dots swam at the edge of his vision, and he knew if he went any further, he would pass out. Eduard unslung his pack, making a quick rummage for his water canteen. Heat radiated off his face despite the cold. The back of his shirt was damp with sweat. The first sip of water was a welcome relief to his dry, aching throat. He smiled to himself, taking another sip, ready to thank whatever higher power his cousin still prayed to knowing he was almost home, when the snap of a twig behind him made his blood freeze.</p>
<p>"Hands!" commanded a voice in Russian.</p>
<p>Eduard's knowledge of the language was far more limited than Tauras', but he knew enough and slowly raised his hands in the air, the canteen falling from his grip.</p>
<p>"What was that?" the voice demanded. "What were you holding?"</p>
<p>"Just water," Eduard said.</p>
<p>"What are you doing out here?"</p>
<p>Eduard turned his head slightly to the right. Out of his periphery, he could just make out the blurred figure of an imperial soldier in a dark blue uniform standing about eight paces behind. Through the trees ahead stood flat, barren farm fields. The village of Laugszargen was just beyond. The border was <em>so close.</em> Eduard had two choices: he could either try to take on the soldier, or run.</p>
<p>In the space between one heart beat and another, he made his decision.</p>
<p>Eduard grabbed his backpack and took off.</p>
<p>He zigzagged through the woods, not daring to leave their cover until he was closer to Laugszargen. The soldier was close behind. Eduard heard two rounds go off from the man's revolver, flinging off bark from a nearby tree. He cursed. That had been close. Too close. As much as he needed the cover, the trees were also making maneuverability difficult. Branches snagged his coat, his pack. He needed open space if he was to outpace the soldier. Eduard turned and ran for the field as another bullet flew by.</p>
<p>The houses of Laugszargen came into view. Another few minutes, and he would be there. But the soldier showed no sign of relenting. He would not stop at the border. Eduard would need to find a place to hide. The thought was like an added weight. He felt suddenly heavier knowing this was not yet over. Eduard's pace slowed a half step. Exhaustion had started to drain him. Exhaustion from the trip and exhaustion from the chase. His breath came in dry, ragged gasps. His muscles ached. A sharp pain thrummed in his side. But it was nothing compared to the sudden iron-hot burn that tore through his left shoulder.</p>
<p>Eduard had been shot.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Holy cliffhanger, Batman!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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